


Where We Collide

by Lavendelshampoo, MilliasRage



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Drinking, Getting Back Together, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Heartache and Longing, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Non-Linear Narrative, Plans For The Future, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Smoking, implied drunk sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27250741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendelshampoo/pseuds/Lavendelshampoo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilliasRage/pseuds/MilliasRage
Summary: Everyone knew things had gotten rocky after Satori left for Paris, but they were still best friends, and nothing could destroy that bond. That’s how it was supposed to go until desire and yearning inevitably weaved their way back in.In 2024, Ushijima decides to close out his professional career with a few more seasons back home.In 2024, Tendou decides to take on a new challenge and open his own chocolaterie in Japan.As it turns out, Tokyo is quite small when trying to avoid your ex-boyfriend.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 105
Kudos: 191





	1. Plus le temps passe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutouts to [Destini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant) for her wonderful beta <3
> 
> Honorable mentions go to [shad](https://twitter.com/vetashad) for being the first to figure out what's going on! 
> 
> This fic is basically an excuse for Li and I to shove all our favorite things about ushiten as well as our favorite tropes into one epic multichapter work lol. We hope you enjoy!

**[August 20, 2024 – 8:31 pm]**

“Can I get you anything, Sir?”

“Thanks, I’m good,” Satori declines the flight attendant’s offer with a feigned smile and watches her move on to the next row. 

His neighbor, an elderly Japanese man, pulled out a sleep mask and earbuds as soon as they were seated and is snoring quietly. Satori doubts he will be able to sleep on the 13-hour flight. A chilly nervousness settles into his bones as he watches Paris slip further and further away below, until it’s a mere bright smudge in a cobweb of lights. It’s strange to leave, after all this time, without knowing when he’ll be coming back. If he’ll be coming back. He is on his flight home, so why does it feel like he’s _leaving_ home? His throat constricts at the thought, very much like the first time he saw the city from above, so he swallows hard and closes his eyes. 

_The spring air tastes cool and crisp like a new beginning should. Cherry blossoms float by, dancing on the breeze, and Satori watches the delicate petals for a moment, hovering in the air in front of the gym before a gust of wind carries them away. Grimacing, he shifts on the low wall they’re sitting on and turns towards Wakatoshi. He flinches inwardly at the intense stare he is met with. A wide smirk spreads on his lips to disguise what that sincere gaze does to him and he tilts his head playfully. “What’s up? Somethin’ wrong with my face?”_

_“No. I’m memorizing it.”_

_His heart skips a beat and suddenly his chest feels tight, making it hard to draw the next breath. They will be clearing their dorms tomorrow and in less than two weeks, Wakatoshi will be off to Tokyo. In less than a month, he will be off to France._

_He wants to say something funny, something reassuring, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is: “We’ll manage, right?” His voice sounds thin in his own ears and he looks down, reaches out and moves his hand on top of Wakatoshi’s, interlocking their fingers. “Just a few kilometers, eh?”_

_“We will.”_

_It sounds so sure and with Wakatoshi’s hand in his, always so warm, gently squeezing his fingers, it’s easy to believe._

Satori shifts in his seat to get into a more comfortable position, concentrating on the monotonous sounds of the aircraft’s engine to drone out his thoughts. He should be thinking about the future, but some memories have a habit of coming back to haunt you when you least expect it. 

_It’s harder to believe when he’s alone in Paris and the full consequence of his decision comes crashing down on him. Living and learning in a new city, a new country and a new culture is exciting, but equally exhausting. His every waking moment seems to consist of exhilarating new experiences, but on some days the sheer weight of how foreign he feels is excruciating._

_Work piles up while calls dwindle down and he realizes all that you can miss. It’s the little things. Speaking to each other with no transmitter, voice clear and full of little nuances in tone. Looking at each other to take in all the little details no one else pays attention to: freckles, little scars and dimples, specks of color in the other’s irises. Touching each other: a bump of hands while doing chores, the touch lingering for a moment or fingers interlinking on a walk. Relaxing in a tight embrace after a long and stressful day, engulfed in each other’s smell. Tasting each other, lips and skin, in sweet and bitter moments and everything in between. But there is no comforting contact, no reassuring touch, only longing and futile compensation through telephone calls, messages and social media updates._

_It’s the touches he misses the most. They have been so close for so long; he has to relearn being alone, and it scares him that it gets easier with time._

_It scares him that he starts to wonder._

_He wonders whether he has been fooling himself, reserving such a vast space in his heart for one person and one person only. Instead, the space is filled with loneliness and brief visits that are never enough to mend the growing rift in their relationship._

_He wonders whether these feelings are still as real as they used to be or if they are slowly becoming remnants of a happy past. He wonders whether he clings to shadows and fantasies because, no matter how much it hurts, it’s still easier than letting go._

_He starts to wonder whether letting go would ease the heavy weight on his heart, dragging him down and asks himself: Is this really love? Do I still need this? Yes, an unwavering part of his heart answers._

_But not like this._

Satori opens his eyes again with an irritated groan and glances at the monitor in the middle of the gangway. 12 hours and 20 minutes to go and he envies his neighbor for every second of his peaceful sleep. The landscape below is changing in the soft evening light and he can make out the snowy peaks of the alps, painted red and orange by the setting sun. 

Pushing the unwelcome memories to the back of his mind, he turns to the multilingual airline magazines in the pocket of the seat in front of him. He takes a sports magazine out, flips through the pages–and freezes. A familiar piercing gaze meets his from a glossy photograph, and the irony of it feels bitter in his mouth. He can’t escape, can he? But at the same time, he can’t seem to hold on, always ending up farther away the closer he gets.   
  
  


STAR PLAYER USHIJIMA RETURNING TO JAPAN

Ending his career where it all began - National athlete Ushijima W. has signed a contract with the Schweiden Adlers for the next season ...

He knew, of course. From social media, from the volleyball news he still follows, from Semi asking him about it. From everyone except the person staring at him from the page. He can still recall the exact expression on those handsome features on _that night_ , the last time they met.

“Fuck,” he curses silently, flipping the magazine shut and stuffing it back into the pocket, hidden behind all the others. He picks his earphones up and starts the music on his phone, loud enough to render it almost impossible to think. 

Someone once said nothing hurts more than the regret of not having tried, and Satori always deemed it wise. Now, he would have to disagree. The regret of not having tried hard enough hurts far worse. 

****

He’s been back in Japan for a few weeks now, but each day still feels like the first. His senses are constantly stimulated to drum up nostalgia, reacquaintance, and an acceptance of forgotten pieces back into his life. Since his return, nights are filled with dreams that play like peculiar, silent films of vague memories. He sees the pink sweater he would’ve worn through his whole first year in middle school if it was up to him. He smells and tastes his grandmother’s tonjiru and roams a maze of hallways in Shiratorizawa.

The sound of his native tongue being spoken in the hallway beyond his door is the first piece of the day to return to him as he blinks away sleep. He checks the time on his phone and springs up from under the comforter, realizing he’s slept through all his alarms.

“Shit…” Satori mutters as he slides to the edge of the bed. He opens his phone to double check his calendar. _Yeah, I need to leave, like now._ He exhales and raises off the bed to find something to wear in the tiny closet he has to work with for now, holding only a quarter of his clothes while the rest still lie in bags. He selects a simple black button-up shirt and slim jeans before slipping out to the bathroom. On the way, he finds Semi on the phone in the kitchen, most of his body hidden behind the refrigerator door.

“Thanks for waking me up!” He yells sarcastically before closing the door to the bathroom.

“What?” Semi yells back, muffled through the walls. Satori rolls his eyes and begins to brush his teeth.

“I said thanks for waking me up. I’m probably going to be late to that apartment showing now. It’s too good of a deal and I know a lot of people are looking at it too,” Satori says as he rushes to the genkan to slip on his shoes and grab his keys.

“Oh right, that. Yeah, good luck!” Semi replies before his eyes wince at the loud voice on the phone, probably the manager of his band. “Dude, it’s none of your business who I’m talking to, why the fuck are we still talking anyway??” he yells back into the phone before turning back towards the stove and waving over his shoulder.

Satori shoots an unamused glare at Semi before heading out the door. Rooming with Semi has been mostly great, but his occasional shouting matches with his manager and loud music long into the early morning could only be tolerated so much. The apartment he’s going to see might be his first run of luck with plenty of room to house all the things he could bring over from Paris. He’s sold most of his furniture to save the cost of overseas transportation, but still has boxes upon boxes of accouterments he’s collected. The second bonus was an extra room to be a home office for the chocolate and confectionery business he had come back home to open.

By the time Satori arrives at the apartment building, he is only a couple minutes late. He takes a moment outside to catch his breath from practically running there from the station, groaning over the less than ideal start to his day. His stomach grumbles as he pushes through the glass doors of the posh building and makes his way toward the receptionist of the leasing office.

“Hi! I’m here for a 10am showing of your available apartment. Sorry I’m a bit late,” Satori apologizes with a crooked smile.

“Oh, no worries! You can follow me upstairs, Nakamura-san is already there with someone. You can join them.” The receptionist, a short man with an almost comically cute button nose, rounds the corner of his desk before leading Satori to a set of elevators.

“Has it gotten hotter out there?” asks the receptionist as they walk down a hall of pristine tile flooring and fancy light fixtures.

“A bit, I’m still re-acclimating to the harsh Summer here, haha,” Satori laughs as he follows along.

“Oh, were you abroad recently?”

“Yeah, I just moved back from living in Paris for 10 years.”

Saying it out loud still stuns him despite the few weeks he’s been back. The most stressful and emotional times of his life were spent in Paris. His coming of age, his first proper job, his first relationship that was neither high school love nor long-distance agony.

The ghost of a familiar rumbling voice floats past his ears for a fleeting moment. Satori checks over his shoulder with furrowed brows and watches a couple walk past at the end of the hallway. _Weird…_

“Oh, wow that’s incredible–ah, we’re here!” the receptionist announces before pushing open the unlocked door of the apartment. Satori’s eyes widen at the bright atmosphere of the space, reminded of the other reason he couldn’t pass up the opportunity: lots of natural light like his home back in Paris.

“Ah, glad you could make it!” greets the realtor as he returns from the enclosed kitchen area of the apartment. Satori gives an overexcited bow and shifts his attention to the footsteps of the other visitor approaching from the kitchen.

He freezes in place as Wakatoshi makes his way over and stops short, mirroring his astonishment.

Satori releases a shuddering breath, then swallows down a tight throat as achingly familiar hazel eyes pierce through him for the first time in _five_ years. His lashes flutter with disbelief, hoping he’ll wake up soon from the dream he’s obviously in. He knew Wakatoshi was back too, but he was confident he’d take it upon himself to find the right time to deal with the inevitable.

“Tendou-san…” 

Satori winces at hearing Wakatoshi address him so formally.

“H-hey, Wakatoshi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Feel free to leave a comment and let us know what you think!
> 
> Chapter 2 should be out by next Friday. We're thinking of releasing weekly so keep an eye out and don't forget to subscribe to the work!
> 
> Li and I are both on twitter! Come say Hi!
> 
> [@lavendelshampoo](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo)  
> [@millias_rage](https://twitter.com/millias_rage)


	2. I still feel accountable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to Chapter 2 of this slow burn journey!
> 
> The reactions to the first part have been amazing! Big thanks to everyone who commented or screamed at us or just read and enjoyed!! 
> 
> Please mind that more tags will be added as this goes on and the rating might change. We've added "drinking" for this chapter, although no heavy drinking happens. 
> 
> Another note for clarity: we assume the documentary was filmed in autumn 2019 and aired in early 2021.
> 
> Please enjoy!

**[September 14** **, 2024 – 10:13 am]**

“Tendou-san…” 

Satori winces at hearing Wakatoshi address him so formally.

“H-hey, Wakatoshi.” 

It seems unreal, and the heavy beating of his heart is a telltale sign of how much he is not ready for this, but there are not exactly many options now. 

“We are old acquaintances, yes”, Wakatoshi answers the realtor’s question that didn’t make it past the buzz in his ears. _Acquaintances_ . The choice of words hits him like a slap and pulls him from his frozen state. _Is that all we have left?_ He clears his throat and notices that the agent is still looking at him expectantly. 

“Would you mind doing the tour together?” he repeats his question politely. Satori’s eyes dart over to Wakatoshi, who somehow appears relaxed and distant at the same time and gives a barely noticeable shrug. A few years ago, Satori would have been able to tell exactly what that shrug is supposed to say, but now he can’t be sure. Licking his lips nervously, he forces himself to relax his shoulders and looks back at the realtor. So much for first impressions. 

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine. No need to rearrange your schedule,” he says with a carefree wave of his hand, glad his voice slips into a tone of friendly nonchalance with practiced ease. A sheepish smile slips onto his lips. “Bad enough that I was late. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Oh no, please. I apologize for starting without you,” the realtor returns the sentiment with a polite bow and points to a door on the far right. “Now, if the gentlemen would kindly follow me. We start off with the guest room. Of course, you could also use it as an office.” 

Satori nods and avoids Wakatoshi’s gaze as he turns to follow the agent. As soon as both have their backs to him, he deflates, and the smile vanishes from his lips. It’s impossible or, at least, improbable in a city as big as Tokyo and it hurts, seeing that broad back in front of him. It hurts even worse to notice that, even after all this time, they still share a similar vision of living, otherwise they wouldn’t be looking at the same apartment. 

The tour happens like in a trance. It’s a shame, since the interior design is beautiful and the layout more than perfect for what he imagined. Still, Satori catches only about half of the facts the realtor tells them, nods every once in a while, and repeats some keywords in what he hopes comes off as an attentive manner. His thoughts rave like a storm and its center stands right next to him. 

He tries to concentrate on bamboo parquet and underfloor heating, walk-in closets and automated shutters. He doesn’t want to notice all the other details: how Wakatoshi’s shoulders seem even broader than last time they met, how his cuffed shirt sleeves show a nice tan, as if he has been working or training outside, how the sharp line of olive hair on his neck indicates that he had it cut recently. 

He doesn’t want to smell the faint whiff of fresh, minty cologne when he follows him into the next room a little too close. He doesn’t want to hear his deep voice ask sensible questions about utilities, parking and insurance. 

They step out on the apartment’s rooftop terrace after being shown quite a luxurious bath. The fresh air is a blessing, clearing up the haze in his head a little, at least until Wakatoshi asks— 

“This is facing south?” And Satori knows this is about plants. Tomatoes, probably, and courgettes. Oleander and lantanas, too. 

“It’s sheltered from the wind,” he supplies quietly while he observes the slanted walls confining the terrace on either side, not even intending to say it out loud. The realtor nods in agreement and continues to describe the architectural style of the building with its structural benefits, but Satori finds himself caught up in the look Wakatoshi gives him. He can’t even describe it, but it tears at his heart. 

After a few more polite inquiries, only the kitchen is left, and the agent turns towards Wakatoshi. 

“Would you like to have another look? Or would you like to revisit the other rooms while I show Tendou-san?”

“No, I’ll be leaving,” Wakatoshi declines after a second of hesitation and bows. “Thank you for your troubles. I trust your secretary will be in touch?” 

Satori busies himself with inspecting the modern window frames while they go over the contact details once more. He feels torn between trying to drag this out, just to be in Wakatoshi’s presence a little longer, and desperately wanting him to leave. He is not sure how much more of this he can take. By now, the longing is so strong it rivals physical pain.

He looks up to meet hazel eyes, and an unsaid question hovers in the air between them. _What?_ He wants to ask and almost does, but something shifts. The distant look on Wakatoshi’s face reappears, shutting him out, and just like that, the moment has passed. 

“Thank you for your efforts. Goodbye, Nakamura-san. Tendou-san.” With a polite bow, he turns around and leaves. Satori can’t help staring at his back until he pulls the door closed behind him. 

No matter how many times you see someone walk away, it doesn’t get easier, and he hates himself for being so melodramatic in the middle of a viewing. Drawing a steadying breath, he forces a wide smile onto his lips and turns towards the realtor. 

“So, the kitchen? That’s the best part for me. I’m a Chocolatier, you know?”

“Oh, yes! I remember from our phone call,” the agent nods and leads the way. “You will be delighted to hear that…”

 _Delighted_ , Satori is far from it. At this point, he’s only looking forward to the end of this awful day.

**** 

Satori hears the booming bass coming from Semi’s apartment as soon as he exits the elevator. Apparently, bad luck has decided to stay and refuse him some quiet to collect his thoughts. It’s tempting to get back in and leave, but where would he go? The apartment tour has left him drained, both physically and emotionally. All he wants to do is pass out on the couch, forget the world, and stop thinking for a moment. The way home has been a steady downward spiral and his head hurts. 

The absurd volume of Semi’s music is not helping. Grinding his teeth, Satori takes off his shoes in the genkan and enters the living room area. Semi, occupying the couch as usual, turns around immediately and waves at him. “Welcome back! How was it?”

How he notices him with the music blasting from the stereo is beyond Satori. He hesitates and his eyes drift over to the kitchen area. Some tea would be nice, just to grant him a few more minutes to compose himself. It feels impossible to fake a lighthearted mood. He can’t find the energy for it, and it’s not what Semi deserves. Still, he wishes desperately he could avoid this conversation. 

“I’m not talking to you over that car crash you call music,” he declares and makes his way over slowly, flops down on the huge plush club chair next to the couch. 

Semi rolls his eyes theatrically and shoots him his trademark _you’re a tasteless ignorant_ look but turns down the volume anyway. “So, how did it go? And for the record, it’s not a car crash, it’s Disturbed.”

“Sure is,” Satori mutters under his breath and tries to disappear in the worn plush of the chair. He’s not ready for this talk. He’s not ready for any of it, but it’s too exhausting to come up with believable excuses. Semi might be a brat, but he’s not easily fooled, and he’s not sure he _could_ fake it when all the weariness of the last few years has settled heavily into his bones. 

“The apartment was awesome. Just like in the description.”

“But? They forgot a few zeros on the rent?” 

“No, it’s…” Satori stares at the screen saver on the TV, abstract patterns moving to the music’s rhythm. He doesn’t want to say it. He knows, once he opens this door, there is no closing it and he has brought this upon himself. Maybe he should have given his closest friend a fair warning that he is indeed his closest friend by now. No competition there. 

“I met Wakatoshi, by pure chance. We toured it together.”

He glances over and wishes he hadn’t when he sees Semi’s face light up. “The fuck? Seriously?? Why didn’t you invite him over?” Semi shakes his head and laughs. “Wow. What a coincidence, huh? Crazy.”

Satori tries to smile and ends up with a lopsided grin, barely more than a grimace. “Yeah, it’s crazy.” They can agree on that. He moves to sit cross-legged and rubs his icy hands on his thighs. 

“Well, and?” Semi prods and he avoids looking at him. “Dude, what’s up? Why do I have to drag it all out of you? Did he ask you to move in with him or something? Share the rent?” 

It’s just some lighthearted teasing, and Semi laughs at his own joke—until he seems to notice the pain on Satori’s face, plain and unmistakable. “Ok, what’s going on,” he asks and draws his brows together in confusion, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Am I missing something?”

Satori lets out a dry chuckle that barely makes it through the tightness of his throat. “You could say that…”

How do you explain that the last five years have been a lie? Or not a lie in the strict sense, just a habit of conveniently leaving out some facts, giving evasive answers, and avoiding certain topics. Calling it anything else but a lie is just his conscience trying to ease the burden. 

He takes a deep breath and it stings in his chest. “We haven’t exactly… talked a lot recently.”

“Uh, yeah? You were both moving, remember? What’s the big deal?” Semi shrugs and turns the music down another notch. 

Satori can’t bring himself to face him and hides his hands in the sleeves of his shirt. A nice black button up from a fancy French boutique to leave a good first impression with the realtor. He fucked that up for sure. He fucked up a lot. 

“Dude, what the fuck? Would you just, I don’t know, _talk_ to me here!?”

The anger in Semi’s raised voice makes him flinch, but still, he can’t say it. It’s childish, but saying it out loud makes it real in a way he can’t bear. After today, it’s genuine enough already. His eyes are burning, yet the tears won’t come. They haven’t in a long time. It’s just dry frustration oozing out, rubbing him raw from the inside like sandpaper. 

He hears Semi groan, and then his voice softens when he places his next question.

“Okay. Wait. Alright. When you say recently, we’re talking about…?”

Satori takes a shuddering breath, his mind still frantically searching for a way to escape, but then he slumps, lets his head hit the backrest of the chair and closes his eyes. There is no way he can get out of this, and maybe it’s for the best. 

“Three years.” He almost chokes on the words, but it’s there, out in the open. He hears Semi’s sharp inhale, feels his stare, but it’s nothing compared to the weight of those two words. 

“Holy shit. Fuck. Satori, what the fuck,” Semi curses and he can’t blame him. “Three fucking _years_? That’s… since the Tokyo Olympics. You guys haven’t talked since the fucking Olympics!?”

He doesn’t want to look, so he just nods, scared of what he will find in Semi’s eyes. He sounds shocked, and who wouldn’t be. Pissed, but he sounds pissed most of the time. Disappointed, and that’s the worst. 

“I can’t believe this shit. Since the _Olympics_. Fuck,” Semi curses quietly and he hears him suddenly get up and walk away towards the kitchen. The fridge opens and closes, a cupboard rattles, then some more rummaging. Satori blinks his eyes open and stares at the white ceiling, suddenly glad for the music still playing quietly, giving him something to concentrate on besides the void the confession has left inside him. 

When footsteps come closer, he glances up at Semi, who carries two glasses filled with golden-brown liquid on ice. “I need booze for this,” he declares, and presses one glass into Satori’s hands. “You definitely need booze for this.”

Satori has to admit, he might be right, so he takes a sip and welcomes the slight burn. Paris has helped his tolerance for spirits, but he still prefers wine over whatever Semi consumes regularly. 

“It’s some fancy bourbon. Taichi left it here,” Semi explains as he sits, puts his glass down on the table between them and looks at him, really looks at him. There is no judgment in his eyes, no pity, only determination to understand. 

“Tell me.”

And he does. Satori tells him everything he can bear to reveal. He tells him about long distance pain and failure, tells him about harsh reality crushing juvenile visions of a relationship. Tells him how hard it is to hold on and how hard it is to truly let go. How hard it is to stay mere friends when longing overwrites every sensible decision. 

He recounts how carefully constructed barriers leave a stale aftertaste on every interaction, how awkward silences ache and make you call less, how your guilty conscience ensures that you reach out less and how every day that passes makes it harder to go back. 

He tells him about blame and guilt and about keeping up appearances, to cling to the illusion that everything will fall back into place. Except it doesn’t. It never does. 

By the time he finishes, Semi has refilled their glasses twice and sits on the floor, rubbing his face with both hands. 

“How could I not know,” he asks quietly, letting his hands fall to his lap, and looks up. 

Satori shrugs and circles the rim of his glass with one slender finger. Thanks to the whiskey, he feels pleasantly warm and numb, but it can’t erase the dull pain in his chest completely. It should be liberating to finally tell the truth, but he feels as if every word was ripped from him by force and has left him sore inside. 

“It’s not your fault,” he replies and takes another sip of bourbon before he meets Semi’s gaze. 

“It’s not yours alone either. You know that, right?”

Satori lowers his eyes and licks his lips. “Yeah…” _No. Maybe._

“I thought... I _knew_ the break-up was bad. You always made it sound like a sensible decision but... you were a mess the first few weeks,” Semi thinks out loud and looks for his glass to find it empty right next to the couch. Apparently, fetching the bottle from the table is too much of a bother, so he turns towards Satori again. He looks tired. “But… you were seeing that French guy and... shit, I thought you had it all figured out. No drama, no hard feelings. Back to best friends.”

 _Best friends._ It hurts to hear, because they don’t even have that left. Mere acquaintances like Wakatoshi said. Satori toys with the bourbon in his glass, watches it reflect the dimmed lights and gives a barely visible shrug. It’s not about hard feelings, rather about too many feelings, but he is too exhausted to explain again and again. For three years, he managed quite well to ignore them and to go on with his life, but one glimpse at Wakatoshi is all it takes for carefully locked up emotion to break loose. 

“We all thought so. And your documentary...” Semi adds with a dry chuckle and shakes his head. 

Satori takes a sharp inhale and closes his eyes for a moment. _The documentary_. He can’t think about that now, he just can’t and he’s glad that some memories don’t make it through the drunken haze in his head. Doesn’t know what to say anymore, feels hollow inside. 

Semi rubs his face and straightens his posture a little. “I’m shit at relationship advice. And damn, I need some time to wrap my head around… this.” He hesitates a moment, and there is nothing cruel in his voice when he continues. “You both fucked up. But now you’re both here so… you should talk.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading all this pain! We promise it'll get better at some point. At some point...  
> The next chapter should be out by next Friday! 
> 
> Kudos and comments really mean a lot! Or come talk to us on twitter: 
> 
>   
> [@lavendelshampoo](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo)  
> [@millias_rage](https://twitter.com/millias_rage)


	3. Bring to life a vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with us and enduring all the pain! We promise it will get better (soonish)!  
> The next few chapters will be a little longer, as more and more is happening. 
> 
> Please mind that more tags will be added as this goes on and the rating will change at some point. We've added "implied sexual content" for this chapter, although it's probably not what you expect. ;) Still considering whether Semi needs his own tag for his foul mouth...
> 
> Also thanks [Destini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant) for continuing to beta!
> 
> Enjoy!

**[October 8** **th** **, 2024 – 5:47 pm]**

“Alright, please take a look around and let me know your thoughts,” says Satori’s commercial agent as they step into an empty kitchen with long countertops and sinks in the center. A row of gas ranges line the other side of the island, and a couple large refrigerators sit along the far wall. 

“There is additional packing and labeling space in the back near the dry storage,” she continues as they walk around the kitchen.

Every time Satori tours a potential space, he gets goosebumps. He’s been itching to get back to work in a kitchen, patience wearing thin during the grueling process of getting his business off the ground. This property seems to be the most promising so far for his particular needs, but the rental rate is still a bit beyond realistic.

“I really like this one. It can definitely go down as a favorite,” he says, opening one of the refrigerators and falling back into silent contemplation. 

“Good! The next property is a few blocks down–Ah, sorry, I need to take this,” the agent pulls out her phone and walks a few steps away for privacy. Satori eyes a stain on a ceiling tile as he waits for her to finish her conversation that is definitely starting to sound like an emergency.

“Tendou-san, I apologize.” Yep, there it is. “But I need to handle a family emergency. Would it be possible to reschedule the showing of the next property?”

“Of course!” He obliges, giving the rental space one last once-over. “Giving me more time to think about this one might finally bring me to a decision, haha,” he jokes in an attempt to help her feel less awful than she already seems to.

“Alright, I will be in contact as soon as possible,” she says with a deep bow as they lock up outside of the property.

Satori lingers outside the building for a moment, visualizing the space between an old record shop and an internet café as his. He can see a bright open sign in the corner of one of the large windows, a glass display full of his treats for the day, and menus of his offerings. _I really like this place. Maybe I can rearrange some finances to make it work,_ he considers, before setting off for the station.

****

The muffled sound of Semi’s music flowing through the opening elevator doors is now routine and barely noticeable as Satori makes his way down the hallway. 

He’s been thinking about the pile of paperwork for the business he still needs to review and complete since he got on the train back. Still not having a place of his own, or a space for his business, and missing his comfortable, stable life in Paris has built a constant aura of stress that remains unshakeable. And just when he feels like he’s finally managed to calm the whirlwind of thoughts, Wakatoshi settles in like lingering humidity after a storm. 

Ever since that apartment viewing, he’s wondered if this is really how things will be. The next time he sees him—because he knows that is inevitable as well—will it be more awkward silence and glances full of everything and nothing at the same time? He wants to talk to him; he wants to know how he’s been, and what he’s been up to, besides the obvious successful volleyball career. Wakatoshi is one message away, or even a call, but Satori knows there’s much more to it than that, much more to sort out after all these years. He fiddles with his keys and resolves to push the thoughts aside while approaching the door to Semi’s apartment. The music is louder now, but still barely a whisper to his buzzing brain as he turns the key and pushes in.

He immediately bends to remove his shoes and in sensing Semi on the couch where he usually is, he announces himself. “Hey, Suzuki-san bailed on me so I’m back,” Satori glances over briefly, but backpedals at a flash of ginger. His cheeks flush as he frantically looks away, realizing Semi isn’t alone and that he may have just seen something he probably shouldn’t have. _Wait._ He shakes his head and looks back over.

“Kawanishi??”

Semi lifts out of Taichi’s lap, wiping at a string of saliva that clings to his lips as he moves away. Taichi rests his head back against the top of the couch and turns his gaze lazily over in Satori’s direction, eyes still dark and heavy-lidded from whatever they were just doing.

“Shit, hey. Didn’t think you’d be back already,” Semi laughs, then smiles sheepishly at Satori from the other side of Taichi on the couch.

“Yeah, I was just saying why… wait, I didn’t know you and Taichi were? What the fuck?” Satori squints at the two on the couch.

“I’ve been back for months and you never even mentioned?? Or even before…” Satori pinches the bridge of his nose, chuckling softly. “You know what? I’m just gonna?” He points toward the hallway, slowly backing off to his room.

“This always happens,” Taichi says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You think he’s coming right back out?” Semi smirks.

“I can still hear you!!” Satori yells as he changes into a hoodie and shorts. He slinks back out into the living room and gives Taichi and Semi a playfully disgusted leer. “You guys are gross,” he says before dropping into the empty club chair with a huff.

“Where have you even been this whole time I’ve been back?” Satori asks as he busies himself on his phone, replying to a message from Goshiki to confirm a little coffee catch-up date they've been planning.

“My coworker had surgery, so I’ve been busy at the pharmacy picking up their shifts.”

“But they’re back now, and so you can finally help me plan this party!” Semi exclaims as he gets up to grab his laptop. Taichi looks the least bit excited.

“Party?” Satori glances up from his phone with curiosity. 

“Yeah, I’m throwing a huge 30th birthday party at the Black Room, it’s gonna be crazy.”

“He’s already invited the entire world,” Taichi adds, unamused and scrolling aimlessly on his phone. 

“Not even. There’s like what? 80 people on the list so far. Whatever, I just know a lot of people, ok?” Semi drops back onto the couch next to Taichi, draping his legs across the ginger’s lap. “I just need to send out the invites for the old team and that should be it for all the important people.”

Satori’s heart warms at the thought of the Shiratorizawa gang being together again before it skips a beat with realization. So Wakatoshi will definitely be there. Semi’s birthday is when? _Fuck, that’s like a month from now. Ok. No. It’s fine. It will be a huge party and you’ll barely see him, probably._ He’s aware of how inauspicious it is to react this way to the idea of seeing Wakatoshi, but it can’t be helped. Not after the way things have been.

“I’m just glad I won’t have to bartend like you made me at your last party. Your friends tip like shit,” Taichi murmurs, nudging Semi’s legs over to get up and make his way to the kitchen. 

Satori covers his mouth with the floppy cuff of his oversized sweatshirt to hold back a laugh. Semi glowers at Taichi’s back as he’s walking away, then at Satori, who is now laughing out loud.

“I’m so sorry we’re all just poor, starving artists and not the fancy executives you used to serve at that hotel,” Semi pouts, taking one of the beers Taichi brings back for them.

Several hours and many drinks later, Satori lies with his back flush to the seat cushion, long legs dangling off the edge of the chair arm. Taichi lies across the couch with his head in Semi’s lap, eyes closed and relishing in Semi’s fingers idly stroking through his hair. An old Prince album is playing out of large speakers. Semi silently mouths the lyrics during the lull in their conversation.

Laughing and drinking helped Satori drown out his thoughts about Wakatoshi, but as always, the quiet lets them sneak back in. The next song begins to play, and Semi bobs his head to the 80s synths and drums. 

“ _Yeah, I would die for you, yeah_

_Darling if you want me to…”_

He stares up at the ceiling, head weighed down by the two shots Semi convinced him to drink. The song is almost nauseatingly romantic, and he tries his best to hold back the small scowl forming on his lips. _Would you still die for me, Wakatoshi? Would I for you? Surely years couldn’t have broken us down that much?_ He feels silly for aching like this over such a cheesy and glamorized expression. If the last three years have shown him anything it’s that love is far too fickle to uphold such declarations. 

Semi lies his head back on the arm of the couch and returns to massaging Taichi’s scalp. Satori looks over to the two of them and bites at the inside of his cheek. _Are you seriously feeling bitter about them?_ He sighs quietly, at least he thinks he does, until Semi looks over in his direction. Semi’s content expression shifts to one of sympathy and a bit of apologetic remorse. His fingers slow to a stop in Taichi’s hair as he seems to search for something to say.

Satori squeezes his eyes shut and huffs out a small, dejected laugh. “I think I’m gonna head to bed now. I’ve got a date with our baby boy Goshiki tomorrow, err later,” he says, remembering it’s well past midnight. He swings his legs off the edge of the chair and stretches. 

“Ok,” Semi murmurs, brows still furrowed with worry. Taichi stirs briefly, before turning over and closing his eyes again.

Satori gives Semi a hopefully reassuring smile before slipping away into his room. He pulls the sweatshirt off and throws it into a pile of clothes that has formed on the side of his bed. Then he falls face first into pillows and clenches his fists into the cool sheets, uttering a whiney groan. Shifting his head to the side to breathe easier, he closes his eyes, hoping to find some solace in sleep. 

_“Let’s take a break down there, Toshi!” Satori points down at the grassy and overgrown bank of a small stream that winds through the farm fields just outside of Shiratorizawa's campus._

_Wakatoshi follows him through the brush and sits next to him when he finds a large felled tree trunk near the bank. The water trickles past, babbling, and unrushed. Wakatoshi wipes at the sweat on his brow with his forearm before exhaling deeply into a relaxed posture._

_Satori rubs at his gangly knees and turns toward Wakatoshi, resting a hand on the broad shoulder before him. The soft cotton of his t-shirt is slightly damp with sweat, but Satori’s lithe fingers press in anyway._

_“You know, this would be the perfect place to kiss someone for the first time. In manga and movies, it’s always under a sakura or fireworks. But here it feels like it’s just us, huh?” Satori asks, resting his chin on Wakatoshi’s shoulder.._

_“Hm,” Wakatoshi hums, and Satori knows it’s a hum of understanding. It’s just them, plain and simple._

_“Can I try to kiss you, Wakatoshi?” Satori asks. The drone of cicadas fills the silence as he waits for an answer._

_“Hm,” Wakatoshi hums again. Satori tilts his head expectantly at the boy next to him. He needs a more direct answer this time, and Wakatoshi knowingly twists to face him._

_“Yes,” he responds, glancing at Satori’s lips before returning his gaze._

_Satori scoots closer and presses his lips against Wakatoshi’s. He nearly misses from closing his eyes too early, but Wakatoshi stays still and lets him readjust._

_The next kiss is better and burns with purpose now that Satori knows what to expect. Wakatoshi cups his cheek with callused fingers and pulls him closer._

_Despite the growing intensity of the kiss, Wakatoshi’s lips become colder and colder against his own. Satori opens his eyes to the darkness of night and jolts back in confusion. Tall buildings covered in narrow, lit windows loom ominously over them like gleaming eyes. The bustle of Paris nightlife replaces the deafening noise of cicadas and the surface below them is cold and damp, overgrown grass now uneven cobblestone._

_The fabric of Wakatoshi’s pea coat slips from underneath his hand as he pulls away._

_“We should head back,” he says, rising from the stone bench._

_Satori scrambles up to follow him, heart beating frantically with the sudden fear that Wakatoshi may never turn back._

_“Wakatoshi, wait–”_

Satori’s eyes blink open to the bright sun shining in through the window of his bedroom. His heart is still beating out of his chest as his eyes dart around the small room in bewilderment. A pile of boxes in the corner, messy stacks of business paperwork, the old frilly lamp given to him by his mentor years ago, now out of place on the floor next to his bed. 

No, he’s not in Paris anymore, he remembers as he turns over and away from the blinding sun. The sense of dreaded abandonment sinks back in as he recalls the end of the dream and buries his face in the pillow. 

_How many more times will I have to watch you walk away from me?_

****

  
  


They agreed to meet at a French café in Minato district, close to the university’s pharmacological department. When Satori mentioned it the evening before, Taichi joked about how he wouldn’t have survived morning courses after late night bartending without their strong coffee. 

Satori is sure that Goshiki had the best of intentions in choosing the place, but right now his stomach churns at the thought of a French breakfast. He tries to conjure up at least some excitement on the train ride, but still, the dream lingers in the back of his mind like a dark undercurrent, dampening his mood. The looming presence of his own mistakes overshadows the cherished memory of their first kiss, just like it does with everything else. 

He still remembers the day vividly and fondly. It wasn’t anything like what you’re taught to expect: no tidal wave of sensations crashing over him, no fireworks and explosions at the contact of their lips, no amorous rapture and fairytale enchantment. What he got instead were nose bumps and awkward angles, laughter and second tries. 

It wasn’t monumental, sublime, or an eye-opening experience. But is it less perfect if it feels easy? If it feels like the most natural thing you should do every day of your life? Their kisses grew to feel warm and safe until they became rushed and desperate with the increasing distance. The sobering end of last night’s dream cruelly reminded him of that, tainting the comforting memories.

Satori shakes his head, trying to free himself from its icy grasp. He can’t let that happen. He has to hold on to those times, when everything was still perfect and right and they didn’t know how ugly love can be. What else is there to hold on to now? 

By the time he arrives, Goshiki is already waiting in front of _Le Pain Quotidien_. His hairstyle hasn’t changed much, but he’s taller, broader, more angular, and it reminds Satori of how long they haven’t seen each other in person. He hadn’t spent a lot of time in Japan the last few years, just the obligatory family visits. Meeting up with your friends sure seems less urgent, the more you have to hide.

“Heyyy, Tsutomu! Lookin' good,” he greets and Goshiki smiles brightly at him. It makes him look younger, much like the kouhai he was in high school. 

“Good morning,” Goshiki replies and seems to hesitate a moment, hovers between bending for the habitual bow and moving in for a hug. Satori grins and pulls him into a tight embrace, unable to resist the temptation to ruffle his hair a little. The hug feels nice and warm, like good old times should, and eases the heavy weight of the night on his heart. 

“Ooh, you’re almost as tall as me,” he notes when he lets go and measures their height with one hand.

“Look at you! Guess they didn’t photoshop that commercial, huh?” Teasing, he pokes at Goshiki’s chest, muscles well defined under his dark purple sweater. He doesn’t remind him of anyone. Not at all. 

“No, um, yes, I-… We train a lot,” Goshiki replies, blushing a little, but there is a proud look in his eyes and he straightens his posture at the praise. Satori laughs and pushes him towards the entrance. 

“Sure you do. Let’s get us some food.”

The café is bright and open and not nearly as crowded as he assumed. They pick a table at the large window front facing the neighboring park and Satori takes another look around. It’s not perfect, but it has the Paris flair. Old-fashioned wooden shelves line the walls, filled with various bottles, tins and tiny jam jars. Trays loaded with tarts, eclairs and croissants rest upon the counters as the smell of fresh-baked bread wafts throughout the café. Soft French music is playing from hidden speakers and Satori wonders briefly if anyone except him and some European looking tourists can catch the lyrics. 

He expected to feel uneasy, but somehow, the atmosphere is soothing and strangely, he feels more at home than he has the last few weeks. 

Talking to Goshiki still comes easy, as if no time has passed. A pleasant warmth blooms in his chest when they laugh together as he recounts how he answered his phone in French multiple times and got on the wrong train for a business space viewing. _Maybe the party won’t be a disaster_ , Satori muses, _if it’s like that with everyone_. Then he remembers that it can’t possibly be like that with Wakatoshi, and a heavy sigh almost leaves his lips. 

They order their food and talk about Goshiki‘s volleyball career, his coach, his teammates, and what their old team has been up to. Satori describes his vision for his business and recounts the difficulties of living with Semi. 

“Oh, wait-,” he interrupts himself and sets down his cup. “Did you know he and Taichi were a thing? _Are_ they even a thing? It looked like it, but...”

“I-… I’m not sure.” Goshiki blushes furiously and hides behind his bangs, suddenly very interested in stirring his coffee. Satori‘s eyebrows shoot up and he tilts his head curiously. Clearly, he has been missing some interesting events, based on that reaction. 

“Hmmm?” 

“I, eh... caught them... making out in my kitchen. When everyone was at my place to watch the World Cup.” Considering the color of his cheeks, it wasn’t only making out, but Satori doesn’t press it. 

“Yeah, that’s basically how I found out,” he says and leans back on his chair. 

“That’s how everyone found out,” Goshiki mutters, still concentrating on his coffee. 

“Huh?”

Goshiki takes a quick look around before he moves a little closer, voice conspiratorially low. 

“Kenjirou picked them up after a concert once and, uh, they were too busy in a back alley to notice him. Hayato walked in on them in the bathroom of some bar. Reon gave them his car once and, um… he said, he wouldn’t recommend doing that.”

Satori blinks. “That’s…. ok. Wait. How long has this been going on?” 

Goshiki knits his brows, still a little flustered, and gives an unsure shrug. “A few years, maybe?”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me!” Satori shakes his head and pulls his phone out to send Semi a message, but stops in the middle of typing. _You can’t believe he didn’t tell you?_ _Really?_ The irony tastes bitter, and he has to keep his expression in check carefully, as he puts the phone down and waves at the server to order another café au lait.

**** 

“Do you miss Paris?” Goshiki asks unexpectedly while they enjoy their food and Satori looks up, startled. There is so much sincere concern in his friend’s eyes that he takes a breath and considers the question for a moment. 

Fond memories come to his mind of his workplace and the old Madame Ameri, dropping by every Thursday to buy chocolates for her niece, memories of the little cafés he frequented and of his favorite bakery in Montparnasse. Memories of shining dark curls, caramel skin and lips that always smiled, proving to him that relationships can be easy. He also remembers the Seine in the dark on a chilly November night and stops himself before the downward spiral of his thoughts can show on his face. 

“I sure miss the croissants and I’m shit at making them myself,” he answers with a quiet laugh and Goshiki smiles at him, oblivious to the turmoil boiling inside him. 

Satori goes on to explain the perfect texture of the perfect croissant and how he can’t get the dough quite right, no matter how many times he tries. He’s glad when the conversation naturally moves back to the familiar territory of volleyball after a while.

“You should come to one of my games, when we’re in Tokyo,” Goshiki tells him, almost forcefully, and Satori nods excitedly. He hasn’t been to a match in years, it’s about time to change that. 

“Sure! I’ll be rooting for you!!”

Goshiki’s face lights up and a fierce, determined look enters his eyes. 

“We’re up against the Adlers on November 30th.”

_Fuck._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Kudos and comments are much appreciated, we love to know your theories or what you think!!
> 
> For all the youngins reading, you can listen to the Prince song "I Would Die 4 U" that Satori was being drunk and melodramatic about [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hkNl3pq1twE) on YouTube lmao. 
> 
> Chapter 4 should be out by next Thursday (we're over competing with new episode hype LOL), so subscribe to the work for updates. <3 
> 
> We are both on twitter! Don't be shy, come say Hi! :)
> 
> [@lavendelshampoo](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo)  
> [@millias_rage](https://twitter.com/millias_rage)


	4. No one knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to chapter 4! The party chapter! :D  
> Late happy birthday to our favorite hot rockstar Semi, we realized too late that we could have posted this on his actual birthday. He still has our unconditional love and... other thoughts... 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your feedback and kudos and comments and excitement!! It makes us all happy and fuzzy!!
> 
> Also thanks to [Destini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant) for being our beta!
> 
> Enjoy!

**[November 16** **th** **, 2024 – 9:53 pm]**

“This is your boyfriend’s party. Why do you look even less happy to be here than me?” Satori asks, passing a small flask to a sulking Taichi sitting next to him.

“’Cause I know I’m gonna have to babysit his drunk ass in about an hour,” he sighs before taking a _very_ long sip and wincing at the sting of the cheap whiskey. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sure, if you say so...” Satori breathes out a small laugh and leans back into the old, squeaky leather couch. They’ve holed themselves up in a back room of the music venue for the last couple hours. The muffled bass of loud rock music thrums through the walls as he and Taichi continue to pass the flask in preparation for a long night.

“It’ll be good to see the old gang, though,” Taichi says with a small smile while adjusting a button of the pink shirt Semi excitedly picked out for him earlier. “Goshiki is the best when he’s drunk, Hayato too.”

Satori hums as he drops his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “Looking forward to it…”

He isn’t. All he can think about is Wakatoshi, who’s probably out there right now. He’s probably out there looking like a whole-ass snack and totally unbothered by the mere thought of Satori being in the same building as him. Not that that’s anywhere near what’s on Satori’s mind. He’s been utterly dreading this night. He’s yet again in a situation out of his control, one in which they’ve been forced to collide.

He’s not ready. There are surely better situations, ones where he can prepare and figure out exactly what he needs to say.

It’s completely baffling, because he’s never felt like he’s needed to do this, be calculating out of _fear_. He hasn’t been this scared of anything in quite some time. It hurts and stings, thoughts of Wakatoshi coated and wrapped up in a veneer of grief and insecurity. But he supposes he brought this on himself. He’d stopped blaming everything that happened on his ex-boyfriend years ago, but it didn’t seem to solve a damn thing.

“GUYS. Everyone’s here! Get your asses up!” Semi yells after bursting through the door. “And give me that!” he says, snatching the flask out of Taichi’s hand.

“It’s empty,” Taichi smirks, then rises from the couch to wrap an arm around Semi, leading him back towards the door.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Semi laughs before pulling Taichi down for a kiss. He pulls back abruptly and glances over to Satori with a regretful look.

“Fuck off,” Satori says, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be out in a minute” He adds before rising from the couch and, waving dismissively at Taichi and Semi.

“Alright, everyone’s really excited to see you!” Semi says as they head out the door.

_I really wish I could say the same._

Satori pushes into the small private bathroom of the green room and stops in front of the sink and mirror hanging above it. He huffs a sigh as he runs fingers through shaggy crimson locks. He’s been letting it grow out a bit more lately, just enough to tickle his forehead. Just enough for fingers to run through and maybe grab onto.

Satori shakes his head and braces himself on the sink. _What the fuck was that about? One second, you’re dreading even seeing him and the next you’re thinking about that??_

He raises a hand to rub at his eyes before stopping short, remembering the dark eyeliner Semi drew on him earlier. Stepping back for one last inspection before heading out, he adjusts the collar of his top, a black t-shirt with several diagonal stripes of sheer mesh to peak at pale skin underneath. He frowns at his black leather pants, then a smirk slowly settles on his lips. He can admit that he looks pretty good, dressed by Semi who dragged him out shopping earlier in the week. The black pair of vans he’s wearing are the only thing he already owned before a few days ago.

 _Alright, just fucking go out there. Fuck it._ Satori exits the bathroom and heads out of the green room into hallways leading to the main area of the venue. No longer muffled, the music beats louder and louder as he approaches the last corner sheltering him from the party.

The punchy riffs of guitars and upbeat drums of hard rock boom out of the large speakers of the venue. Colorful stage lighting dances around the crowd of people in the center of the room while throngs of Semi’s rocker friends chat away at small bar tables and couches lining the edges of the space. Up on the stage at the far end of the room sit more couches surrounding a large, velvety red and plush chair that seems to be the birthday boy’s throne. The whole affair is just a huge black leather and spiked Sweet Thirtieth party, Satori surmises laughing to himself as he makes his way toward the stage. After weaving about the crowd, he spots the group of his old teammates standing in front of the stage and chatting with Semi, who immediately sees Satori and calls him over. Satori sighs and puts on his best smile as he approaches.

Of course Wakatoshi is already there, looking like perfection incarnate, and the sight tugs at Satori’s heart. Out of everyone in the room, Wakatoshi is probably the least dressed for a party, but it doesn’t matter. Dark jeans and a tight sweater are all that’s needed for Satori’s mouth to go dry and his pulse to speed up. For a second, his eyes linger on the way the smooth fabric stretches across Wakatoshi’s well-defined chest and shoulders, and it makes his fingertips tingle with the urge to touch. A twinge of panic hits him when he notices his staring and he averts his gaze quickly, making sure his practiced smile is still in place. 

“Hey guys!” He greets his former teammates. After giving out a round of hugs, he reaches Wakatoshi and nervously licks his lips before settling next to him. He’s suddenly much more aware of the bitter aftertaste of the whiskey that Wakatoshi can probably smell now that they’re so close. _Just act natural, or whatever that used to look like. They think we’re still cool. They think we’ve probably already hugged, there’s no need, of course._ Everyone knew things had gotten rocky after Satori left for Paris, but they were still best friends, and nothing could destroy that bond. That’s how it was supposed to go until desire and yearning inevitably weaved their way back in.

“It’s so crazy you’re back!” Hayato exclaims and nudges Satori with his elbow to catch his attention. “How’s everything? How’s living with our rockstar?” 

“Yeah, I’m still kind of processing it myself,” Satori admits, glad for the distraction, although he would much rather talk about the others than about himself. He glances at Semi and a small smirk makes it to his lips. “Well, it does feel like living in a tour bus sometimes,” he says, and his gaze wanders over to Taichi, “including the groupies.” 

“Hey!” Semi protests while Taichi just shrugs, indifferent as usual while the rest of the group bursts into laughter. Even Wakatoshi smiles, Satori notices out of the corner of his eye, and promptly looks anywhere else. 

“You have to tell us how you found out about them!” Hayato insists, still laughing, and points at Semi with his beer bottle. “He didn’t tell you, did he? He never does.”

“Please don’t.” Shirabu shoots a pointed glance at the self-proclaimed not-couple. Satori laughs quietly, tipsy high gradually allowing him to enjoy himself despite the lingering unease between him and Wakatoshi.

“Maybe later,” he says and deliberately ignores the fact that Semi is not the only one here who could be blamed for forgetting to talk about some events in his life. 

“But seriously, it’s good to have you back,” Hayato nudges him again and grins at him, clearly a little tipsy himself. 

“Yeah...” Satori tries to smile at him, but it ends up a little crooked. Coming back home hasn’t been going quite like he planned. He still doesn’t have a place of his own or a space for his business, everything takes longer than expected, paperwork never ends, and a suitable property is not exactly easy to come by. He can barely look at his former best friend and the people he always trusted the most don’t even know. All things considered, his life is a mess. 

Reon, somehow sensing the drop in his mood, flashes a warm smile that’s never failed to melt the entire team. “We’re all here for you if you ever need anything, Satori,” he ensures warmly and Satori swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. 

“Or a place to stay with a little less... rockstar flair,” Shirabu adds in a tone of mild disdain that could be ironic or deadly serious. 

“You’d let me crash at your fancy doctor place?” Satori tilts his head and eyes him curiously. 

“No...” Shirabu answers evasively and brushes back his bangs, “but I could help arrange something.” 

“Apartment hunting always sucks,” Hayato declares with conviction, and it earns him an affirmative hum from the group. “No luck yet, huh?” 

Satori doesn’t look at Wakatoshi, scratches his neck and drops his hand when he notices his own nervous gesture. Better not rouse any suspicions. “Eh, no, not exactly... I’ll try to find a business space first.”

“Yeah, stay at my tour bus home as long as you like, but you’d better get used to the groupies.” Semi grins at him, then turns towards the whole group. “Alright, it’s my birthday assholes!! If you wanna catch up, do it at the _fucking bar_!”

“Actually, I was about to go grab some yakitori–”

“If you will excuse me, I wanted to see what refreshments were–”

Satori freezes and turns to Wakatoshi in surprise, then sighs, giving into his cruel fate once again. The guys don’t even seem to notice, somehow falling back into their routine of leaving Satori and Wakatoshi alone to their devices just like when they were all back in school.

Wakatoshi seems to realize they’re alone as well and clears his throat awkwardly before turning towards the buffet. He glances briefly at Satori, a silent ‘Are you coming?’ and Satori follows, running a hand nervously through his hair.

When they arrive at the table, Satori instinctively scoots out of the way of the mushroom yakitori, knowing it’s Wakatoshi’s favorite. He catches a fleeting crook at the corner of his mouth and chuckles inwardly. Despite the perpetual tightness in his chest since he got here, he can’t help falling back into boyfriend mode for a second.

“Ya hungry, big guy?” He teases while nervously avoiding eye-contact. He’s still quite unable to handle being around him this closely, for this long. He wants to talk to him about so much. About all the years spent in silence. He told Wakatoshi _everything_ back then. He would have told him about the time he almost dropped his phone in the Seine or when he was granted that really important culinary award. He would have told him he missed him.

“Mm,” Wakatoshi hums in response, stacking a couple skewers on his tiny party plate. 

Satori frowns as they walk over and settle to the side of the buffet, eating in awkward silence. Wakatoshi stops halfway through his second skewer and sets it on his plate. He stares down at it for a bit, and Satori notices a small twitch in the large hand holding the food. _He’s thinking. Thinking about saying something. Fuck, please don’t do this right now. Actually, no. Anywhere is as good a place as ever for you to tell me you’ve moved on. Of course you have, it’s been years. There’s nothing left to feel._

“Tendou-san, I...”

“Don’t.” It leaves his lips before he can stop himself and he takes a labored breath before adding quietly: “Just... stop with the honorifics, alright?”

He can deal with a lot if he has to, but not with this. Every time Wakatoshi addresses him so politely, it tears wide open the chasm that lies between them. They have been so far apart for so long in the most literal sense, but this is the distance he can’t take. 

“I’d rather have you not talk to me at all than like this,” he mutters, struggling to find the courage to look up and meet his ex-boyfriend’s eyes. Immediately, he wishes he hadn’t. He sees pain in them, and the fucked-up mix of wicked satisfaction and desperate hope it stirs in him is almost too much. Still, he can’t stop himself from admiring the arch of Wakatoshi’s brows while he furrows them deeply, fighting his own internal battle. 

“I’m sorry... Tendou.” 

Satori shivers at the low rumble of his voice but relaxes a little. It’s better. Still far from what they were used to, but it doesn’t hurt as much, just leaves him with an unpleasant feeling like rubbing over grazed skin. 

A large group of Semi’s band friends saunters over to the buffet, all clearly intoxicated already, and Satori hesitates a moment before nodding towards the bar tables closer to the dance floor. 

“Wanna go over there?” 

Wakatoshi nods and follows him, and if Satori sways his hips just a little on the way over, he blames it on the music and on Taichi’s flask. It’s much louder, so close to the dance floor, and somehow, that’s a relief. It’s no place for quiet intimate conversations with all the noise and a table between them and he’s thankful to get some reprieve from the inevitable. 

“So... you’re with the Adler’s again,” he tries for safe terrain to calm his nerves.

Wakatoshi stays silent for a moment, then his shoulders drop, defeated. Satori blinks and licks his lips. Maybe that’s just how he wants to interpret it, desperately looking for signs he’s not the only one affected by the strange situation they’re in. 

“Yes, it’s good to be back. Hoshiumi-san is also there,” Wakatoshi answers and picks up his skewer again. 

“Huh? Was he with them the whole time?”

“No, he played some seasons in the North, but he never went abroad. He has never reacted well to foreign food.” There is a humorous note in Wakatoshi’s voice, indicating that he doesn’t believe this to be the only reason, and Satori finds himself smiling, just a little. 

Volleyball has always been his safe spot, and this seems to be no exception, as it somewhat closes the gaping chasm between them. It still hurts to know that it’s just superficial familiarity, but you have to start somewhere, so he keeps asking about the team, the training and the matches, even mentions his search for potential business spaces. It’s easier to talk about missing work than about what he really misses the most. 

The conversation carries like a tight-rope dance—if he relaxes too much, if he opens up too much, he might fall, yet the sensation of finally talking after all those years makes him light-headed. He watches Wakatoshi as he talks about the national team, dance floor lights reflecting in his eyes, and notices the way his gaze flickers downward to his elaborate mesh shirt now and then. Satori relishes it, but it hurts more than the awkward silences interrupting their conversation. It’s an obvious reminder of what could have been. It’s also a faint glimmer of hope for what could be.

“Would you like to get a drink?” Wakatoshi asks and Satori wishes it were ‘Do you want to go outside?’ instead. And then what? He is not ready to dig deeper, but he might never be, and he is fed up with missing chances, so he might as well—a loud voice interrupts his thoughts and he can only stare in disbelief at what happens in front of him. 

“Ushikawa-chaaan~! Can I borrow you for a minute?” Oikawa slides up to them and throws an arm around Wakatoshi’s shoulders.

Satori blinks, feeling like a bucket of ice water has been splashed over him. He wants to pinch himself to make sure this is real. How did he not notice him before? It’s absurd, but he knows the club could burn down around them, and he wouldn’t notice a thing except for Wakatoshi standing right next to him, looking like everything he has ever wanted and everything he has ever lost. 

“Oikawa,” Wakatoshi merely acknowledges him but makes no move to disentangle himself. 

“C’mon Ushiwaka, we haven’t seen each other in _ages_.” 

“I saw you three weeks ago.” 

Satori’s brain short circuits and suddenly he feels nauseated, involuntarily thrown back to high school again, jealous and wondering. What else doesn’t he know? 

“As I said, ages,” Oikawa insists and tugs on Wakatoshi. “Let’s get a drink.” 

“I’m in a conversation.” 

“Yes, I can see that.” 

Oikawa turns towards Satori and smiles at him—not rude, not mean, just slightly curious and somehow sympathetic. 

“You won’t mind, right?” It sounds more like a piece of friendly advice than a question, and it leaves Satori utterly at a loss for words. Oikawa tugs again. 

“C’mon, Iwa-chan is waiting at the bar.” 

Wakatoshi looks at him and he’s thrust back into memories of the apartment all over again. He used to know what these looks mean but now he can’t guess shit and before he can come up with any comprehensible answer, Wakatoshi turns around. 

Satori watches them leave for the bar, petrified. Hurt. His unlikely chance at fixing things has been ripped from him, and the harsh truth that he knows nothing about his ex-boyfriend’s life stings like a slap to the face. 

Hot anger coils low in his stomach, and he clenches his fists. _Why the fuck are they even here?_ He is furious at Semi, but even more at himself. He shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have let himself get dragged into this, and he knew it. Turning around sharply, he makes his way to the back. The smoky air suddenly feels suffocating, the noise deafening, and he needs some time to clear his head. _They’ve seen each other three weeks ago..._

“Hey, where are you going?”

Satori stops short, almost crashing into Taichi.

 _Three weeks ago. Bet that wasn’t the only time._ He shakes his head to stop thinking for a moment and gestures vaguely. 

“Just... I need to get some air.” 

Taichi frowns at him and puts an arm around his shoulders, much like Oikawa did with Wakatoshi. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he tenses under the touch. 

“Shit Satori, I don’t see anyone in here who needs a drink as much as you do,” Taichi notes flatly and nudges him towards the bar. “I’ll mix you one. Special service.” 

_Can’t disagree with that._ Satori runs a hand through his hair and lets himself be dragged along, taking a shuddering breath. He tries not to look for _them_ , but his eyes lock onto the small group, anyway. 

Wakatoshi is wedged in between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, both closer than strictly necessary. Oikawa still has a hand on his shoulder, casually leaning in close and talking animatedly. Satori can’t see Wakatoshi’s face, but _if he minds, he would have done something about it, right? When did they become so familiar?_

Satori leans against the counter a few feet away while Taichi goes around and shoos away the other bartender. He can’t keep himself from glancing at them, can’t keep himself from noticing and comparing. Where Wakatoshi and Iwaizumi are broad, Oikawa is lean despite the well-defined muscles straining the fabric of his tight shirt. He always has been too pretty for that big mouth of his. It brings back memories Satori had forgotten: of high school, of insecurities, of fiery glances across the net that always seemed to be a little more than rivalry. 

Forcefully ripping his gaze away, he watches Taichi gather some bottles and wills his thoughts to stop. There was no need for jealousy back then, and there is none now. _Or is there?_ The music isn’t as loud at the bar, but Oikawa damn sure is. 

“We should meet up again while I’m still here. Maybe play some? What do you say to a little unofficial match?”

He doesn’t want to overhear their conversation, but it’s almost impossible to ignore and his curiosity wins. 

“I’ll even set for you. Might be your only chance to experience my perfect set.” He can’t see, but the wink is obvious in Oikawa’s flirty voice. “I’ve watched you, you know? I know exactly what you need. Ouch, Iwa-chan!”

His voice drops to a low whine when Iwaizumi apparently hits him. 

“Quit your flirting. Even setting sounds indecent coming from you.”

“ _You_ touch him all the time, Mr. Athletic Trainer, in that private therapy room of yours, and _I’m_ indecent?”

“It’s the intention.” 

“Are you jealous, Iwa-chan~? Has no one taught you how to share?”

Satori groans quietly and grabs the glass Taichi places in front of him. He really doesn’t need to hear more. Muttering his thanks through gritted teeth, he flees from the bar, but Semi instantly spots him and waves him over. He’s cursed. There is no other explanation. Taking another long sip from his drink, he makes his way over reluctantly.

“Dude, what’s with the face,” Semi shouts over the music. Some of his friends fortunately take the hint and leave for the dance floor. 

“Why did you invite Oikawa?”

“What??”

“Why the fuck did you invite Oikawa!?”

Semi’s expression changes to one of puzzled innocence, and he looks around. His brows furrow when he spots the group at the bar, but then he shrugs. 

“I didn’t? Iwa must’ve brought him along.” He scratches his head and shrugs again. “He was at one of my gigs a while ago, so I invited him.” 

So, this is what Taichi meant when he talked about Semi’s random invitations. Satori grits his teeth and shakes his head at the fucked-up irony of it all, while Semi’s expression changes from confusion to irritation. 

“What’s your problem, man? You didn’t even want to talk to Wakatoshi!” 

“I _was_ talking to him,” he starts, but Semi interrupts him instantly, looking pissed. 

“ _Now_ ? Here?? You think _this_ is the best moment in three fucking years?” 

Panic rises in Satori and he casts a quick glance around to see if anyone is listening to them. Semi huffs, takes a step closer and lowers his voice just a notch. 

“Don’t ruin my party, Satori. I told you weeks ago to talk to him and sort that shit out, so don’t ruin my fucking party now.”

Satori stares at him, still furious about his empty-headed invitations, about Semi’s words. Furious that he is right, and the anger burns him from the inside, having nowhere to go. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” he hisses and leaves Semi standing there, aimlessly heading for somewhere else. He wishes there was anyone here that he knows except for their old gang, but there isn’t, and he doesn’t have the energy to make new acquaintances. Wincing at the phrase, he empties his drink, sets the glass down on a table as he passes and heads over to Reon and Hayato. They are least likely to ask dangerous questions. 

It proves to be impossible to concentrate on any conversation. Taichi’s drink on an almost empty stomach doesn’t make it easier, but it offers him a good excuse for how distracted he is. It’s exhausting to fake a good mood, exhausting to keep his back to the bar and stop his thoughts from returning to the conversation he overheard. 

It’s also not helping that everyone is getting increasingly drunk, or that Semi tries to get all of them on the dance floor, even attempts to drag him there once. Satori knows he is being unfair. It’s not all Semi’s fault. It’s a grand party, from an impartial point of view, but for him it’s the worst evening of his life. Well, not the _worst_ , but it comes close enough for his taste. 

Satori glances at his phone for the time. It’s just after midnight, yet it feels like he has been here for hours. He should just go home and leave everyone to their fun, whatever that might be—and stops his imagination from running wild right there. It’s none of his business what Wakatoshi does, anyway. It hasn’t been for a long time, so why is it still so hard to get used to it? 

“Hey.” Taichi walks up to him, after disentangling himself from Semi on the dance floor. “I’m headin’ outside for a smoke. Join me?” 

“Yeah,” he nods and follows Taichi through the crowd, thankful that he heads for the back exit, so he is not tempted to look for Wakatoshi and his new friends. He grabs his hoodie from the couch in the back room in passing and slips it on. Still, the cold air makes him shiver when he opens the door. Taichi seems completely unbothered, despite his partly unbuttoned shirt. 

“You didn’t have to leave just for cranky ol’ me,” Satori tells him, recalling that many people have been smoking inside. 

Taichi just shrugs and takes his cigarettes out, offering the package to him. Satori considers for a moment but shakes his head. Smoking and drinking have never mixed well for him and he will feel like shit the next morning. 

“Man, I sure don’t miss working there every damn weekend”, Taichi mutters, lighting his cigarette. He walks a few steps to a park bench and trash can at the corner of the building. Satori buries his hands in the pouch of his hoodie and follows him. 

“So, you like your pharmacy job?” he asks, thankful for any topic that distracts him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah. Same shit, more money,” Taichi grins at him and Satori raises his brows. 

“Still mixing stuff for people, it’s just more expensive now. And healthier, I hope.” 

Satori chuckles quietly at that and leans against the backrest of the bench, snuggling into the collar of his hoodie. The cold air helps to clear his head, and it’s nice to have a conversation without having to be careful not to rouse suspicions all the time. Semi probably told Taichi everything, but in this case he doesn’t mind, and there have been no pesky questions or any unwanted advice. His heart is still heavy, but the cold air and quiet soothe the raging storm in his mind. 

Just when he relaxes a little, a door opens around the corner of the building and he cringes at the familiar voices. He can’t see them from here, but he hears them loud and clear. 

“Iwa-chaan, you said the cab would be here already.” 

“Quit your whining, Trashykawa, it’ll be here any minute.”

“I’ll be frozen by then!”

Taichi makes a snarky sound and stubs out his cigarette. 

“Do you need my jacket?” 

Satori freezes at the third, deep voice and his eyes go wide. 

“Shit,” Taichi curses quietly.

“No, let him suffer. Maybe he brings his own damn jacket next time. This is not San Juan, Shittykawa, I told you it’ll be cold.” 

“Mean, Iwa-chan! At least someone here cares for me.”

An approaching car interrupts the conversation. Steps can be heard, doors open and close, once, twice—then the car drives off and nocturnal quiet settles again. 

“Shit,” Taichi repeats emphatically and lights another cigarette, then hands the package and lighter to Satori. He stares at it for a moment, before slowly taking it like in trance. Not a single intelligible thought makes it past the turmoil in his mind, but an overwhelming feeling of despair has gripped his chest so tightly he can barely breathe. 

“Y’know... you don’t have to go back in there,” Taichi nods in the club’s direction. “Go home. I’ll handle Semi when he complains.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated, we love to hear your thoughts and theories!! 
> 
> We've decided to post chapters on Thursdays from now on, because Friday is episode day. No more heartbreak on episode day. 
> 
> We're both on twitter, feel free to drop by and say hi! <3 
> 
> [@lavendelshampoo](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo)  
> [@millias_rage](https://twitter.com/millias_rage)


	5. Is it a crime?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo!! We're still going strong! Thanks for sticking with us!
> 
> As always, please keep track of the tags as we will be adding to them as we go.
> 
> Usual thanks to [Destini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant) for continuing to beta for us <3333
> 
> Enjoy!

**[November 17** **th** **, 2024 – 5:14 am]**

Satori rolls over and groans, untangling his legs from uncomfortably hot sheets. The giggling and fumbling of who he assumes to be Semi and Taichi outside his door has woken him up at—he checks his phone—5:14AM in the morning. The door to Semi’s room closes, but he can still hear the two of them settling down through the unfortunately paper-thin walls. He rolls over again to face away from the wall between his and Semi’s room, pulling the comforter over his head.

Minutes later, the sweet pull of deep sleep is interrupted again by muffled grunts and the immediately recognizable sound of a rocking mattress.

“What the fuuuuuck,” Satori whines, curling into himself and pulling his pillow over his head. The noises only become louder as seconds pass and he rolls onto his back with a frustrated sigh. He squints at the faint blue glow of early morning peeking through his curtains and sits up. A loud moan pierces the walls and Satori swings his legs over to pull on a pair of sweatpants and hoodie. 

“Fuck this,” he grumbles as he slips out of his bedroom, heading to the balcony to escape the disturbance. He quickens his pace, realizing the obscene sounds are even louder out in the hallway through Semi’s door.

 _“Take it, birthday boy,”_ he regrettably hears before nearly sprinting to the balcony door. His eyes widen at the joltingly crisp morning air as he pulls the drawstrings of his hoodie taut to keep the cold away.

He leans forward onto the iron railing and gazes blankly at the barely lit alley and smaller buildings below. Rubbing at tired eyes, he exhales a visible breath in the chilly air and watches early risers navigate the city. Thin fog has settled in the low areas of the neighborhood, enveloping bicycles and trash cans. Satori silently wishes it could swallow him up as well after everything that’s happened.

The sight of Oikawa standing so close to Wakatoshi, hand resting ever so comfortably and familiar on his shoulder, has been replaying in his mind.

The voices of Oikawa and Iwaizumi… and Wakatoshi leaving _together_ resurface as well, and he grips at the inside of his hoodie sleeve. He’s run through countless scenarios of what may have happened after they left. He wants to know _why._ There was a time where he would have simply asked Wakatoshi himself, but that time has long passed. 

_“I’ve watched you, you know? I know exactly what you need.”_

_“At least someone here cares for me.”_

Satori bites at his bottom lip and drops into the small patio chair behind him. He pulls his legs up and wraps his arms around them, bundling himself into a tight ball of despair. He knows Oikawa is a shameless flirt; he knows he shouldn’t be bothered, but it’s all just a reminder of how little of Wakatoshi their time apart has left him. Wakatoshi should have preferred to stay there with him, but no, their actions have made that the very last option to consider.

The past couple of years have been fairly peaceful for him, thoughts of Wakatoshi only resurfacing upon seeing him in volleyball news or the occasional social media post. He had somehow come to terms with the reality of them never being more than distant, old friends. That’s what happens when you grow up, right? That was his latest and greatest excuse and defense against the pain he refused to feel anymore. But, ever since being back home, ever since seeing him in that damned apartment, he can’t escape thoughts of that hazel gaze. The constant yearning for what they used to have. The warm safety of his arms. The only love he knew was right, and just for him.

Satori pushes the palms of his sleeved hands into his eyes to force away the threatening sting of tears and takes in a long, chest swelling breath. He exhales, removing the hands, and blinks at the brightening sky above. Convinced he’s kept the overflow of misery at bay, he lifts out of the chair and stretches out his stiff limbs before stepping back into the apartment. 

Betting on the high possibility that Semi and Taichi’s drunk sex probably only lasted about 5 minutes until they passed out on each other anyway, he pauses after opening the sliding door and listens for a moment. Fortunately, there is only the faint noise of traffic outside, so he pushes the door closed behind him. He doesn’t even make it to his room, dropping onto the couch and wrapping himself up in the blanket left over the backrest. Waking up so early finally catches up to him as he drifts effortlessly back to sleep.

****

Satori pops his head out of his blanket cocoon at the smell of tea and clatter of cabinets in the kitchen. He turns toward the noise and spots Taichi at the table, crouching ominously over a mug as if it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Semi is in the kitchen beyond, cracking eggs while quietly singing the lyrics to a song he doesn’t recognize.

He decides against getting up to join them and pulls his phone out of his hoodie pocket instead. With a bitter squint, he scrolls through seemingly endless pictures on Semi’s Instagram of the party before checking his email for daily apartment listing updates and responding to messages from his mentor back in Paris. 

He refuses the offer to join them for brunch and stays bundled in the blanket, staring blankly at his phone and drifting in and out of sleep. He’s thankful for Semi leaving him alone despite the clearly annoyed furrow of his brow whenever he looks over. His heart only seems to feel heavier, even after getting more sleep. All he can think about is how last night could have been different, how the last few _years_ could have been different. It’s as if every single regret of the last five years of his life has been taking turns shoving him back and forth between each other like a pack of bullies at school. 

Taichi disappears to Semi’s room and returns with his jacket on, headed to the genkan. He pats Satori’s shoulder as he passes by. “Later, Satori,” he almost whispers, with a hint of knowing sympathy in his voice. Satori hums in response from under the blanket. He doesn’t bother looking up, but listens to Taichi and Semi murmuring to themselves at the door before hearing it open, then close.

Satori knows what’s coming, so he just lies still on the couch and waits. He focuses on a loose fiber in the rug below until his view is blocked by Semi’s approaching feet. 

“Here,” Semi mutters through a tight, stern line of lips. Hesitantly, Satori sits up and wraps the blanket around his shoulders before taking the mug of tea Semi offers.

“Taichi said you guys saw Wakatoshi leave with Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Then you just left? And now you’re sulking out here on the couch. What’s up with you? What aren’t you telling me now?” Semi falls back into the club chair beside the couch and leans onto the plush arm, waiting for Satori to speak.

“First of all, thanks for waking me up at ass crack in the morning. I had to get away from you indecent assholes, then ended up passing out here.”

Semi squints in confusion before looking the other way in realization. “Shit, I’m sorry. I thought we were being quiet, but we were still drunk as hell, so…”

“Yeah, I figured. I’m glad you guys had a _splendid_ night,” Satori murmurs, lifting the mug to his lips.

“What’s wrong, Satori? What’s up with you and Wakatoshi?” Semi’s voice softens nearly to a whisper. “I know you said you haven’t talked, but did something happen?”

Satori’s throat tightens and burns as he silently recalls the last night he and Wakatoshi spent together in Paris. The last time they physically saw each other before the apartment viewing. One chilly Paris night, _five_ years ago.

Semi moves to sit next to him on the couch, tucking a leg underneath himself and facing Satori. He looks more worried than anything now.

“Satori, please tell me. I haven’t seen you this messed up since you guys broke up. Tell me what happened.”

Satori balls his hands into shaking fists and drops his head back against the couch. He swallows hard.

_One chilly Paris night._

_Satori was sure seeing Wakatoshi for the first time in several months, and to film a segment together for his Jounetsu Tairiku documentary on top of it, would be the highlight of a year that hadn’t been going so well. After ending things with his French boyfriend earlier in the summer, he desperately welcomed the distraction. He and Wakatoshi shared proud stories of their school days and playing volleyball together. Satori acted like he didn’t see the shift in hazel eyes when he introduced the world beyond the camera to his ‘Miracle Boy.’ He acted like he didn’t notice the space between them diminish with each step as they strolled through the city. He acted like he wasn’t thinking about grabbing the large hand brushing against his until he pressed his fingers into warm knuckles and held on, anyway._

_His elation was almost overwhelming. They had been through so much together and even survived a heartbreaking split. Young men following their dreams at full speed and separated by an ocean and then some couldn’t help the strain. Soon, they would learn it was too much and not enough. But here they were together, fulfilling a several years held promise that they would remain best friends long enough to shout it to the masses one day._

_They bump knees under the small café table and laugh it off, but neither of them moves away to give the other space. Before long, it’s clear there is no intention of holding back between the two of them._

“Just one magical night? We deserve this, don’t we?” _was the silent agreement, stamped with the intertwining of their fingers._

_“You’re not ready to go back to your hotel just yet, are you?” Satori asks, propping his chin on Wakatoshi’s shoulder. The warm light of boutiques and patisseries they pass by illuminates their faces in the cool night._

_“No. I would like to spend more time with you, if that is alright,” Wakatoshi replies, squeezing a bony hand in his._

_“We’re close to my place, I can make some hot cocoa,” Satori offers, gently swiping his free thumb along the other’s rosy cheek._

_“Ok,” Wakatoshi murmurs, leaning into the hand. Satori sucks in a breath and cups his friend’s face more firmly, letting his heart take over. Hazel eyes burn into him. He acts like he doesn’t hope it’s desire in that gaze._

_They only make it a few steps into the flat before Satori crowds Wakatoshi back against the door. He rests his forehead against olive fringe and closes his eyes. Quickened breaths dance in the sliver of space between their lips as Satori warily rests his hands on the soft sweater-covered chest before him. Satori takes a moment to finally take in the heady, yet fresh scent. He can practically taste the minty fragrance as it’s warmed by Wakatoshi’s stirring pulse. Wakatoshi doesn’t move a muscle, and Satori still doesn’t open his eyes. The act is over, and he hopes that when he opens them, they are met with the desire he’d hoped he saw earlier._

_“Touch me,” he breathes, curling his fingers into woven cotton. Warm palms clutch at his temples and pull him forward into a crushing kiss._

_“Toshi,” he gasps in the half-second they take to readjust before diving deeper into each other. His hands grasp at all they can find, trailing up a thick neck, curling over ears, and burying into cropped hair._

_Wakatoshi pushes forward until they’re pressed up against a nearby wall and hooks his hands behind Satori’s thighs to lift him up nearly effortlessly. Satori gasps in surprise, his hunger intensified by Wakatoshi’s show of strength. He wraps his legs around the firm waist below and drops his head back against the wall as wet lips and hot breath set fire to his neck._

_“Ahh,” he sighs as Wakatoshi grinds into him. He grabs at the wall behind, desperate for something to hold on to. The slick tongue laps and sucks at the thrumming beat of his heart in his jugular before Wakatoshi ruts his hips again._

_Satori looks ahead into the dark flat, decorated and lived in. He’d wished so many times to have Wakatoshi here, to cook for him, make him comfortable, and love him. Something snaps in him and suddenly passion is replaced with heartache._

_“Hnn… Toshi, we can’t…” Satori utters, voice cracking with a surge of regret._

_Wakatoshi releases a strained grunt as he lowers Satori down to let him unwrap his legs. Their slowing gasps fill the silence of the room, illuminated only by the dim overhead light of the entryway._

_“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted–”_

_“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just…” Satori sighs and rests a hand on Wakatoshi’s hip, silently asking him to make way, then heads over to a small couch covered in colorful, decorative pillows. He flicks a switch to turn another lamp on before dropping onto firm cushions. After taking a moment to adjust his disheveled shirt and cardigan, he notices Wakatoshi still standing in the entryway, frozen with guilt._

_“Toshi, come sit. Let’s… talk.”_

_Wakatoshi exhales as he crosses the room to join Satori. His shoulders are taut, and his eyes are glued to the floor, avoiding direct contact. Satori rubs at the spot on his neck where the ghost of Wakatoshi’s mouth still lingers and bites at his lip._

_“I thought about so many things the past couple weeks, while I waited for you to come. All the things I felt I needed to do with you, to say, before I didn’t know when I’d see you again…” Satori grips at the hem of his cardigan, trying to ignore the ache in his throat and chest._

_“I want so much, Wakatoshi, but it just makes it hurt twice as much.”_

_“I’m sorry…”_

_“Stop apologizing, Toshi! Please, just…” Satori wipes at his eyes to brush away tears before they can fall._

_“We can’t help it. Where life takes us. I can’t be mad at you, but I still find myself looking for reasons to be angry. I’ve never felt safer with anyone else and then just like that, I couldn’t have you.”_

_“We both made decisions,” Wakatoshi begins, then hesitates. “We both wanted other things. I don’t know how I am supposed to reconcile with that, but I do know that I will always love you, Satori.” He finally pulls his eyes away from the floor and turns toward Satori. Thick eyebrows tilt into a slight furrow, but Satori knows it’s a deeply pained expression for Wakatoshi._

_“Don’t you think we could have tried harder, though?” Satori chokes out as he continues to wipe at tears that haven’t stopped streaming since Wakatoshi’s love profession._

_“I don’t think even our best efforts could have remedied our circumstances,” Wakatoshi replies, turning his gaze down to clenched fists on either side of his lap._

_“Seriously? Did you really have that little faith in us? Wasn’t I enough?”_

_“Of course you are.”_

_The muscles in Wakatoshi’s face flex as his jaw clenches. He remains silent and an unchecked sob escapes Satori._

_“I don’t know what else I am supposed to say to convince you.” Wakatoshi slides closer, then retrieves a handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe gently at Satori’s flushed, wet face. Satori gasps at the contact and struggles to hold back another surge of tears at the affectionate gesture. He pushes forward and wraps his arms around Wakatoshi._

_The familiar warmth helps to calm him as he takes a few moments to breathe easier. He relishes in the safety of Wakatoshi’s arms wrapped back around him and a tender kiss pressed into soft fuzz. Satori buries his face deeper into the broad chest, gripping tightly at the sweater again. Wakatoshi pulls back and cups his cheek, pulling him in for a delicate brush of lips. Satori releases a tired sigh when they part._

_“I should go back to my hotel,” Wakatoshi says a few moments and a few more lingering kisses later._

_“No, you can stay here tonight,” Satori stammers, lurched out of a fervent trance by Wakatoshi's words._

_“I think it would be better if I go,” Wakatoshi replies, unwrapping his arms from around Satori and sitting back._

_Satori bites at the inside of his lip, clenching and unclenching his fists before he acquiesces to avoid the oncoming tears waiting to resurface._

_They walk back to the door in silence until Wakatoshi turns to him, “I will see you tomorrow afternoon at the airport.”_

_Satori nods, then wraps his arms around Wakatoshi’s neck. He cards through olive locks and pulls him into the crook of his own neck. He doesn’t let go until he’s ready to watch Wakatoshi close the door behind him._

_Satori stares ahead at the door. There’s nothing for him to do now. He and Wakatoshi were supposed to be happily chatting over a hot drink or falling asleep together on the couch. They should have been doing literally anything else but this; intentionally separating themselves after involuntarily being apart for so long. He turns around and presses his back to the door before sliding to the floor. Tears well up and fall over again, but he doesn’t wipe them away. He looks up at the hanging light above, blurry from the moisture in his eyes._

_Buzzing from his cardigan pocket snaps him out of his daze and he scrambles to it fish out of his pocket. It must be Wakatoshi calling to let him back in. He raises the phone up to see it was just a message notification. From his ex._

[Jon ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ:] I finally have space for my ficus. Can I come get it sometime next week? And I wanna know how filming went!

_Satori stares at his phone, blinking with disbelief. He chokes out a laugh, and then another until the heaving breaths turn into wet sobs. He drops the phone and slams his fist into the door behind him._

_“Fuck!”_

_Another relationship ruined because of him. Another man driven away. No. There’s still time. There’s still talking to do. He can’t let Wakatoshi leave Paris thinking he did something wrong. Satori drops his head against the door, eyes burning and swelling from the seemingly never-ending tears._

**_There’s still time. Please give me a chance._ **

  
  


“I saw him off at the airport and didn’t see him again after that. We talked a little every now and then, about nothing really. That was basically it for us.” Satori buries his face into his knees as he sits with his arms wrapped around legs tucked to his chest. The blanket lies over him like a cloak. 

“He gave up on me–we gave up on each other,” he corrects himself, shoulders bobbing with his stuttering breaths.

Semi doesn’t say anything, just scoots forward, pulls him into his arms, bundle of gangly legs and all. Satori tenses for a second, but the warmth engulfing him washes away the last remains of composure. All the tears he held back so many years flow freely as he presses his face into Semi’s shoulder and gives in. He smells of fried eggs, Taichi’s strong cologne and a faint remaining whiff of fog machine, but Satori doesn’t mind at all, breathes in and lets it anchor himself to the present. 

“S-sorry,“ he mumbles, realizing how wet the rough fabric of Semi’s sweater pressed against his cheek has become, yet he can’t bring himself to move away. Semi just hugs him closer, gently rubbing his back and lets him cry for as long as he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	6. Excuses that we made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to chapter 6 of this road trip of pain and welcome to a new perspective on things! ;) 
> 
> Thank you all for your support, your reactions motivate us and make us very happy!!
> 
> Big thanks [Destini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant) for always being an awesome and incredibly helpful beta! <3
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_  
The drive to the airport feels longer than it should. The ominous silence is filled with the deafened hum of traffic outside of the car. They sit side-by-side in the back of a cab and Wakatoshi can’t stop staring at Satori’s hand resting between them. He wants to grab it and squeeze, and he knows Satori wants him to. But, he keeps his hand in his lap and Satori says nothing. Crimson eyes stare at the back of the seat in front of him, head propped up on a hand and leaning against the door window.  
_

_ Wakatoshi doesn’t know what to say, never mind this cab being an inappropriate place to bring up their issues again. He wants to apologize, but that just seems to make Satori angry. He wants to say this is the best choice that will spare them the most pain, physically and hopefully emotionally. Only hopefully, because he’s hurting just as much, if not more, than he did when they first broke up. He’s unsure of what their future will look like if they go down this path, but he knows the occasional indulgence of their pent-up desires once or twice a year is not what he wants. He wants to hold Satori and be held by him, sleep with him and wake up with him. It’s a lofty ideal given their circumstances, but he’s never felt so sure about anything else in his life. _

_ They arrive at the departures drop off and Satori wastes no time exiting the car and waiting for the driver to open the trunk for them to unload his luggage. Once they’ve gotten everything, Satori stands looking off in the distance, hands visibly shaking as he stuffs them in his pockets. Wakatoshi scans the area and finds a secluded enough corner behind a concrete wall. He grabs Satori’s forearm, pulling his hand out of the pocket and pulls him toward the corner, shaded from the deep orange afternoon sun. _

_ Satori follows him wordlessly, but stares at him, eyes and expression full of fear and dread. They stand across from each other only inches away as they crowd as deep into the corner as they can to be unseen from passersby. _

_ “Wakatoshi, please-” _

_ “We can’t do this anymore,” Wakatoshi says low, eyes trained to the concrete below. _

_ Satori’s lips quiver as they part, then press into a crooked line. He steps closer and punches a clenched fist into Wakatoshi’s chest before grabbing onto the slippery fabric of his track jacket. _

_ “I guess I can’t stop you…” Satori whispers into his chest. _

_ “We both know it’s best.” Wakatoshi reluctantly lifts a hand to cup the side of Satori’s head and press a kiss into the top of his head. He wraps arms around his best friend and squeezes tight, eliciting a quiet whimper from Satori before releasing him and grabbing his bags. _

_ “I have to go now.” _

**[November 17** **th** **, 2024 – 1:14 am]**

The cab drops them off at an Irish Pub style café in Shinjuku. It’s quiet inside and the library-like style of the place adds to the tranquil late-night atmosphere. There aren’t many people around, only small groups at the bar and some lonely guests typing away on their laptops. They find a secluded corner behind a low partition wall and Wakatoshi takes the chair while Oikawa and Iwaizumi slip on a green leather bench. 

“It’s unusually cold tonight,” Oikawa complains, shivering for emphasis and huddles against the cushion in his corner while they take off their jackets. 

“It’s not,” Iwaizumi answers drily and shoots an annoyed glance at his best friend. “Quit your whining already. Do you want me to hit you?” 

“Hmm, I might like it, Iwa-chan—Ouch!”

It’s strange to sit here and listen to their bickering, Wakatoshi muses, but not stranger than being at a party with all his old friends and his former best friend, while no one knows about the  _ former _ . He drapes his jacket neatly over the free chair next to him and watches his high school rivals scuffle like the kids they once were. They figured out that something was off, so it’s probably for the best that he left before anyone else came to the same conclusion. The thought comes with bleak reverberations, so he picks up the menu to distract himself with little success. 

It’s probably for the best that he left—he told himself so many times the last few years, but one short meeting, one glimpse is enough to shake his conviction. He felt the pull in the apartment, but it was easier to hold back there and to keep a professional distance fit for a business setting. 

It was harder at the party, Satori inevitably pulling him closer from the moment he walked up to their group. He knew it was neither the right time nor the appropriate place to let go of his reserve, but he couldn’t deny himself this chance to talk to him. He shouldn’t have. It took an exhausting amount of self-control to keep himself from looking for signs that there is something left of what they used to have. To keep himself from wanting with all the intensity that still lingers in his heart. He resented Oikawa for crashing that moment, so comfortable yet dangerous, but he was also glad for the escape. 

“What can I get you?” The server arriving at their table snaps him from his thoughts and he makes a conscious effort to unclench his jaw. 

“Black tea with lemon and sugar, please,” he orders, a habit he picked up in Poland, and places the menu down, inconspicuously smoothing the edges he crumbled by gripping it too hard. Oikawa comes up with an elaborate list full of special wishes until Iwaizumi shuts him up by telling him to get milk tea with waffles and orders himself a beer and a burger. 

“You made me leave,” he explains with a shrug when the server turns away with a friendly smile and bow. “The bar at that party was great.” 

“I thought you would be back in Argentina by now,” Wakatoshi notes, changing the topic before they can start their bickering again. He knows what they’re actually here for, but he hesitates to address it and buys himself some more time. At least until they won’t be disturbed by the server anymore. And he is curious. The season in Argentina has started as well, yet Oikawa is in Tokyo. He hasn’t heard or read anything about it, so whatever he is up to must still be a well-kept secret. “Are you retiring?” 

“Me?” Oikawa looks at him as if surprised by the question, then a smug smile appears on his lips and he leans forward, resting his chin on one hand. “Oh no, don’t count me out just yet. I’ll play another ten years.” 

Wakatoshi notices the subtle motion of Iwaizumi moving his hand under the table, reaching for his friend’s knee, and he knits his brows. Oikawa’s smile turns brilliant, like he smiles for all the cameras. 

“I’m just taking a well-deserved break. Pause one season and spend some time with Iwa-chan~”

“He’s here for physical therapy,” Iwaizumi concedes, looking straight at Wakatoshi and Oikawa’s smile falters for a second. “Just precautionary measures. Don’t tell anyone, alright?” 

“I won’t,” Wakatoshi promises with a solemn nod. It’s no recent development, but it’s nice to be reassured that Iwaizumi deems him trustworthy. He has a fair idea what transpires in the long glance the two across from him share before Oikawa huffs quietly, waves his hand in a couldn’t-care-less gesture and turns back to Wakatoshi with an eager glint in his eyes. 

“As much as I love telling you all about my glorious career, we’re not here to talk about me, are we?” 

“Stop being a brat, Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi chides him, but refrains from underlining his words more forcefully when the server brings their drinks. Wakatoshi thanks her politely and pulls his cup closer. The delicate porcelain with a golden rim and the tiny ornamented spoon bring back fond memories of Poland and the tea’s sweet, floral smell hits him with a sudden wave of nostalgia. Adding sugar and stirring, he tries not to think about how most of his memories of Poland are about meeting new people and missing the most important person in his life. 

Surprisingly, it’s Iwaizumi who picks up the conversation again as if he read his thoughts. 

“What’s up with you and Tendou?” Where Oikawa seemed curious, he sounds cautious, worried even. “Whatever conversation you were having, it looked awkward as hell. Did something happen?” 

Wakatoshi watches the steam rising from his cup and considers what to tell them, whether to tell them at all, but it’s clear in his mind that he’s just stalling. He made that decision when he left with them and agreed to come here. Still, saying the words out loud feels like willing his muscles to do one more serve after a demanding training session—painful, heavy, necessary. 

“We haven’t met in five years and didn’t talk for the better part of it.” 

“What?” Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, taken aback, and he lowers the beer mug he was about to lift to his lips. 

“ _ What? _ ” Oikawa echoes and nearly drops his spoon, amber eyes searching Wakatoshi’s face. “But…  _ best friends _ , right?” 

“Everyone watched that…” Iwaizumi adds slowly, and a deep furrow appears between his brows while he presumably calculates the years. “I don’t get it. You never said anything. You looked happy.” 

“I was,” Wakatoshi confirms, and takes a sip of tea against the sudden tightness in his chest. He was, mostly, or had been hoping to be, before one impulsive night ruined it all. The tea tastes strong and sweet and there is something soothing about the sensation of hot liquid running down his throat, spreading its warmth and keeping the cold memories at bay. 

“But he wasn’t?” Oikawa asks in a soft voice, all curiosity replaced by earnest concern in his eyes. 

“We had… an argument that night, after the filming,” Wakatoshi confesses and takes a deep breath, forcing his taut shoulders to relax. “I believe he never told anyone, so I didn’t either.” 

Iwaizumi is still staring in disbelief while Oikawa watches him intently and he lowers his eyes, focusing on the small cup in his hand instead. The fine china feels too delicate under his calloused fingertips, much like the topic he has avoided for so long. 

“So, you broke up that night?” Oikawa prods tentatively and he shakes his head slowly. 

“No. We weren’t in a relationship.” 

Approaching steps announce the server with their food and Wakatoshi lets out a toneless sigh, thankful for the interruption granting him another respite from disclosing the truth. Now that he has made a start, it’s like a loose thread dangling right in front of his fingertips, itching him on to unravel it, but every slight pull also drags forth painful memories he tried his hardest to forget. 

The smells of Oikawa’s waffles and Iwaizumi’s burger fill the air with a savory-sweet mixture that makes his stomach rumble, but he can’t find the appetite to order himself anything to eat, not even another tea. The first one is half-empty by now and it’s taste suddenly seems too sweet for the topic at hand. 

As soon as the server leaves, Oikawa leans forward in his seat and fixes his gaze on Wakatoshi. “But you were together before.” It’s not a question, rather a statement, and Wakatoshi wonders briefly whether Iwaizumi told his friend after he mentioned it years ago in California or if Oikawa figured it out himself, all the way back in high school. The second option seems rather unlikely, given his rival’s dislike for him at the time. 

“What kind of argument would keep you from talking for five years?”

“Three years,” he corrects and runs a thumb over the much too small handle of his teacup. “We had some… loose contact up to the Tokyo Olympics.” 

“You don’t have to answer him,” Iwaizumi interrupts, words muffled by his burger, and sends a pointed look Oikawa’s way. 

Wakatoshi knows he doesn’t have to. He has told no one up till now and he certainly didn’t plan to tell his athletic trainer and his high school rival in some late-night café after fleeing from a party, but he finds himself with little objections. Keeping quiet hasn’t helped in the past, and he doubts they can keep up appearances if their paths cross again. Given that Satori stays in Tokyo, they will, at some point. 

“Don’t you miss him?” Oikawa asks persistently. A hard edge enters his voice and his brown eyes search Wakatoshi’s face scrutinizing, as if he suspects him to keep something essential from him. “Don’t you miss him  _ more _ , now that he’s here?” 

Wakatoshi clenches his jaw, lips forming a tight line. He does. He has been thinking about him constantly since their chance meeting at the apartment, but he is quite capable of caging up his feelings, of keeping them just out of sight. He had to be, the last few years. 

“Wouldn’t you rather be here with him instead of us?” 

Oikawa’s words rattle the cage inside of him and he grips his knees tightly under the table, forcing down whatever is threatening to surface. 

“Tooru–“ Iwaizumi interrupts, but is shut up with a dismissive wave of hand. 

“What  _ happened _ ?” Oikawa keeps probing, more quietly, his expression a mixture of pity and sympathy. 

Wakatoshi forces himself to take a deep breath and tries to sort out his thoughts. He still doesn’t fully understand what happened himself. All this time, it felt like he didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. It seems strange that the special bond they shared could crumble like this, could crumble at all. He knows what the reasons were, from an objective point of view, but he still can’t fully grasp  _ how _ it happened. All these obstacles shouldn’t have driven them apart, and for the longest time he had been too sure they wouldn’t. He had been too sure that he knew Satori well enough to judge the limit of what he could take. Of what they could take. 

“We broke up some time before the Rio Olympics,” he finally answers and takes a sip of lukewarm tea to take the rough edge off his voice. It’s not what Oikawa wants to know, but voicing any of those thoughts feels like running down a steep slope where there might be no stopping and he can’t have that. Not here, not now. So he sticks to plain facts. “But we stayed close friends.” 

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal sound, then shrugs slightly as Wakatoshi looks at him. 

“Never seen that work out before,” he explains, and slaps Oikawa’s hand away from his fries. 

“It didn’t,” Wakatoshi has to admit and moves into a little more comfortable position on the chair, rolling his tense shoulders back. It had been folly to believe that long-distance and demanding careers wouldn’t affect their relationship. Breaking up had hurt, but he had told himself countless times that it was better than to risk losing everything. That it was better to be mere best friends until there is more time, until the physical distance lessens, and things get easier. But he found out the hard way that best intentions don’t guarantee plans will work out. 

“He got together with someone in Paris.” The words slip out unintentionally and he furrows his brows. It’s no secret that there was someone else, their friends knew as well, yet he didn’t plan on mentioning it. This is not about Satori’s French lover, and he’s not the reason for what happened. 

“Did you?” Oikawa asks, idly toying with the straw in his milk tea. “See anyone else?” 

“No.” 

Oikawa gives a satisfied hum as if he expected as much. “And then?” 

“They broke up before the filming for his documentary started.” 

“So, before the Tokyo Olympics?”

“No,” Wakatoshi corrects him. “They filmed it in 2019.” 

Iwaizumi inhales deeply and leans back in his seat. “When you moved to Poland.” 

He exchanges a knowing glance with Oikawa and Wakatoshi frowns. A strange, cold sensation creeps up the back of his neck and is met with a sudden flare of smoldering resentment. He places the teacup down with care and drops his hands to his lap, pondering the obvious implication. Is it that obvious that there might be a correlation? Is he to blame for the end of their relationship? He never asked and– 

“Did you try to get back together?” Oikawa stops his thoughts from going astray and Wakatoshi breathes out slowly to regain his composure. 

He can’t say for sure what he tried to do that night. It happened how it always happened: involuntarily, instinctively, then intentionally moving closer, crossing borders that were already blurred, falling into each other and gladly letting it happen; only feeling complete when any distance was nullified. 

He had thought that evening meant something. It had felt like an invitation to try again, to start anew, to embrace not only  _ best friends _ but also everything it ever implied for them. An invitation to make good use of the mere two hours' distance between them instead of 7000 miles. But leaving is still leaving, he realized that night, no matter how far away it takes you. And he should have known, but the temptation of a chance had been stronger. He vividly remembers Satori that night, his tears, his words, and his jaw clenches. 

“That night… he said—he told me how much it hurts him to be apart. That he needs more than I could give him.” 

There is no need to explain, not to them: how your career decides where life takes you, how some dreams leave no room for compromise. He has never questioned his career choices, but there’s a difference between questioning a decision and feeling regret nonetheless. He saw the way uncertainty was eating away at Satori and he couldn’t keep doing that to him, couldn’t put him through that again just to try harder fruitlessly while nothing had changed about their busy lives. 

“So, we stopped— _ I _ told him we have to stop seeing each other. Then I stopped talking to him after the Olympics. I believed it would be better this way, since all it did was hurt him.” 

The last few years have been a constant effort to do the right thing, to hold back and get accustomed to staying apart. Talking less and less made it easier on both of them, but he soon realized that you don’t get accustomed to living without the central constant in his life that was Satori. The wound left behind doesn’t close, it doesn’t get better with time, you just learn to live with it, anyway. He’s still not sure what hurt more—to lose the chance to be with the love of his life or to lose his best friend. He can’t say, since there is no difference, there never was and there never will be. 

His single consolation for the last five years had been that it was the better decision, necessary to prevent even more pain. The right decision, and those are never the easy ones. But now that he has met Satori, the firm belief he held onto for so long runs through his fingers like dry sand. Maybe pent-up longing clouds his perception, but it doesn’t look like he achieved anything. It’s in the way Satori looks at him, in the way they easily slip back into old habits. In the way he sees his own wishful thinking mirrored in those fiery eyes. 

Heavy silence has settled on their table. Oikawa stares into the distance, frowning, while Iwaizumi runs a hand through his hair, once, twice. 

“I had no idea…” He exhales audibly and drops his hand, shaking his head slowly. “No wonder it looked awkward as hell at the party. So, that was the first time in five years you’ve seen him?” 

“No. We met at an apartment viewing two months ago,” Wakatoshi answers. “Mere coincidence.” 

Iwaizumi’s jaw drops, and he just stares at him for a few seconds, before he finds his voice again. “Are you kidding me?” He looks at Oikawa, who seems equally shocked, then turns to Wakatoshi again, deflating in his seat. “Holy shit.” 

Wakatoshi doesn’t comment, lips pressed into a thin line. The comical nature of the moment is not completely lost to him, but the painful tugging on his heart leaves no room for humor. 

“ _ Ay, dios mío _ , this is fucked up. This is the most fucked up thing I’ve heard in a long time and I’ve been spending time with Makki and Mattsun,” Oikawa states plainly, grabs Iwaizumi’s beer and takes a sip, muttering something else in Spanish. He sets the beer back down, licks his lips and looks at Wakatoshi with the same expression he wears when analyzing the field. “Obviously, you guys need help. You’re lucky that we’re here.” 

“Don’t push your shitty advice on him, Trashykawa,” Iwaizumi rebukes him and kicks him under the table for emphasis, then reclaims his beer and empties it. 

“I’m trying to help!” Oikawa defends himself and moves further into his corner, evading another kick unsuccessfully. 

“No one asked for your advice. Stop being so damn pushy.”

“I’d like to hear it,” Wakatoshi interrupts their fighting and both turn to look at him; Oikawa surprised, Iwaizumi slightly worried. There is no point in having said all this if that’s all it surmounts to: empty talk and satisfied curiosity. He is ready to listen to any advice. Besides, the whole national team knows that their athletic trainer is more than the mere childhood best friend of Argentina’s star setter, so they must have encountered some similar issues over the last years. That alone makes their advice worth something, he hopes. 

Iwaizumi huffs quietly, then shrugs in resignation and piles their empty plates while Oikawa moves closer again, fixing his intense gaze on Wakatoshi. 

“Have you been happy these last few years, Ushiwaka?”

“No.”

“I bet you weren’t the only one.” 

Wakatoshi knits his brows and tries not to let Oikawa’s flippant tone get under his skin. He deserves some of it, he supposes. “He wasn’t happy when we were together either,” he answers calmly. “Nor was I.”

“Nobody’s happy all the time,” Iwaizumi joins in. “We aren’t either.” 

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouts, but there is an earnest look in his eyes, confirming it.

“Life sucks sometimes,” Iwaizumi continues, ignoring him completely. “Relationships too. Long distance even more, but that’s just how it is. You have to be realistic about those things. There’ll always be fights and compromises.” 

As if there was nothing else to say, he shoves the empty plates away, gets up and excuses himself to the bathroom to wash his hands, shooting a last warning glance at Oikawa not to go overboard. Oikawa smiles innocently and waits till he is out of earshot before he turns towards Wakatoshi again, all lighthearted humor gone from his face. 

“See, it’s simple. You can go on like this or you can try again,” he states and leans back against the bench, arms folded in front of his broad chest. “Once you realize no one else will make you happy, it’s quite easy to make that decision.” 

Wakatoshi holds his gaze and wrings his hands in his lap, running his thumb over the knuckles of his left hand. He realized this long ago, but it made nothing easier. It still haunts him, what Satori said that night.  _ Did you really have that little faith in us? _ For most of the time, he had too much, and it ruined what could have been. Now, he doesn’t trust himself not to ruin it once more. 

“I won’t make him go through this again,” he concludes with finality. 

Oikawa inhales sharply and in a heartbeat, his expression changes from concerned to irritated, to furious. “And why the fuck would you get to decide for him?” He snaps, still quiet enough not to draw attention to them, but it doesn’t conceal the underlying threat entering his voice. 

The sharp words resonate as a dull pain in his chest, exposing another truth he has been hiding from himself. He has indeed been doing this—deciding for the both of them, for better or worse. Given their current situation, it’s definitely the latter and acknowledging it amplifies the tight feeling in his chest, causing him to tense and clench his fists.

Oikawa watches him for a moment, then clicks his tongue dismissively and shakes his head, features softening slowly, while a fierce sparkle remains in his amber eyes. “It’s an offer, Wakatoshi. That’s all you can do, offer yourself, the good and the bad. It’s his decision to take you up on it.” 

He casts a glance over his shoulder, making sure they’re still alone, and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. A crooked smile settles on his lips as he props his chin up on his interlocked fingers. 

“Iwa-chan once told me, I’d never be truly satisfied. But you, you could be. Your career isn’t over yet and you’re both here now.” His expression is hard to read and there seems to be a hint of envy hidden beneath the determination entering his eyes. “You can have everything.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always, kudos or comments are much appreciated! We love to hear your thoughts and reactions! We're both on twitter, come talk to us: 
> 
> [@lavendelshampoo](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo)  
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> 
> We keep promising, but we really are on track for the 'getting back together' part now. I guess we all deserve that after so much pain. Thanks for sticking with us, we'll update next Thursday!


	7. There's something about us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! Chapter 7! We sat down for a long time to really flesh out the rest of the fic and we're looking at 14 chapters overall. That means we're halfway through :0 Thank you all so much for subscribing and sticking with us! We're so happy you all are enjoying our little story *sobs*
> 
> Thanks for continuing to beta for us [Destini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant). We love you ;-;
> 
> Enjoy!

**[November 18** **th** **, 2024 – 4:37 pm]**

“I’m home,” Semi announces, from the genkan, dropping his briefcase to the floor with an audible thump. 

“Welcome home,” Satori greets him. He rocks back far enough in his kitchen chair to glance in Semi’s direction. Even after three months of living together, it’s strange to see him in casual business attire, unruly hair pulled back into an almost neat ponytail. 

“What’s more boring? Your outfit or your job?” He calls over and chuckles when Semi flips him off before vanishing to his room to change. Satori turns back towards his laptop and pulls up a knee between himself and the table to keep his chair balanced on two legs. The couch would be much more comfortable, but the kitchen makes him feel like he’s working at least a little while he looks at the new property descriptions Suzuki-san sent him. 

So far, the most promising spaces have been either unaffordable or missing so much basic equipment that it amounts to the same thing. He’s trying not to let it get to him, but he can’t ignore the nagging feeling completely. Every week that passes without finding a business space is money down the drain. 

Just as he opens the next attachment, his phone’s screen lights up with a quiet _pling_ and he picks it up to glance at the lock screen. 

[Ushijima Wakatoshi (4:41PM)]: 

_I wish to see you and talk about some things._

_I regret –_

Clattering loudly, the chair rocks forward as his knee slips off the edge of the table and his phone almost slips from his grasp. Before he can read the entire message, the screen goes dark. _Regret what?_ Cold dread settles in the pit of his stomach, and he places the device down next to his laptop before he actually drops it. _Leaving the party? Meeting me at the party?_ It should be a good sign that Wakatoshi wants to talk, but he’s scared of what else the message might say. 

With trembling fingers, he unlocks the screen and opens the conversation. The complete text is shorter than expected, but he still has to read it twice to grasp what it says. His heartbeat quickens and the deafening noise of blood rushing in his ears drowns out all other sounds.

[Ushijima Wakatoshi (4:41PM):] _I wish to see you and talk about some things. I regret the amount of time we’ve allowed to pass without speaking. Are you available on Friday to meet?_

He stares at the words until the screen darkens and he has to tap it to keep it unlocked. It sounds hopeful, like a chance to sort things out, but that doesn’t scare him any less. So much has changed over the years, yet his feelings haven’t, and words avail very little. Finally telling Semi the unadorned truth had only proved how coming to terms with them never being more than distant, old friends was a lie he kept telling himself. 

He wants to meet him, to talk to him, to tell him how much he missed him all those years, but every chance to get closer is also an opportunity for his unresolved feelings to ruin it all once more. 

“Hello? Earth to Satori?” Semi snaps him from his spiraling thoughts and he blinks, eyes burning from staring at his screen. Satori swallows and turns around, attempting to sound unbothered despite the tightness in his throat. 

“Huh? Sorry?” 

Semi has swapped his casual clothes for some tight black pants and a loose, bluish shirt that’s more seventies than the seventies have ever been. His guitar case rests on his shoulder and he raises his eyebrows as he takes Satori in. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Satori draws a shaky breath and clears his throat, for once wishing for a less expressive face. _No more secrets_ , he told himself, but he’s not sure he wants to deal with any advice on top of that message. 

“Wakatoshi texted me,” he answers and pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his cold hands. “He wants to meet up and talk.” 

Semi mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _at least one of you has some balls_ then slides the guitar case from his shoulder to prop it against the wall. “When? Where? You’re going, right??” 

“I- um…,” Satori starts, fiddling with the seams of his sleeves, and Semi frowns, lips forming a tight, disapproving line. 

“You better fucking go and talk to him.” Semi crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Dude, text him back already! You’re not gonna leave him on read, are you??”

“I- _no_. I’ll go, I’ll go.” Satori takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, avoiding Semi’s gaze. He knows he can’t pass up this chance, but it will take some time for him to convince himself that he’s not heading for disaster. “I’ll text him. Just… give me a minute, alright?” 

Semi gives him another scrutinizing look before he lowers his arms and nods. “Want to come to the studio with me? We’re recording some tracks,” he offers and picks his guitar case back up. Satori hesitates a moment and eyes his laptop. Some distraction does sound nice, but he really should get back to Suzuki-san. 

“They have free Wi-Fi, just bring your stuff along,” Semi adds and turns around to collect some sheets of music, scattered all over the living room. “But move your ass if you want to, I’m already late.” 

“Yeah, alright,” Satori decides, before closing the laptop and getting up. Faint afternoon light reflects on the screen of his phone and he traces a slender finger along its edges before picking it up and opening the conversation. His heart is pounding as he looks at the text once more, but overthinking has never worked out well either. 

[Me (5:04PM):] _Yeah, I’m free. Just tell me when and where_

****

Wakatoshi stares down at Satori’s response for a few moments. He spent about twenty minutes drafting the message, deleting and retyping, then deleting again, until he was satisfied that the message did not offend or take Satori by surprise any more than it naturally would. His chest was tight as he looked over the text. The tightness could mostly be attributed to an overwhelming sense of urgency to make it known that he did not mean to choose their fates for them, that he didn’t want to miss the opportunity to at least have his friend back. He was nervous and trying his best to ignore all indications of it as his grip on the phone grew sweatier with each passing second. Right before sending the message, it dawned on him that maybe he shouldn’t be assuming Satori would accept his invitation in the first place. But here he is, now set to have a date _–_ no, a meeting _–_ a few days from now to look forward to.

[Me (5:07PM):] _This Friday, the 22nd. We can meet at a café I used to frequent. It’s called Tokyo Orchard. I will send the address soon._

Wakatoshi stares down at his phone again until several messages from Oikawa pop up at the top of the screen.

[Oikawa Tooru (5:10PM):] _So did you ask him?_

[Oikawa Tooru (5:11PM):] _???_

[Oikawa Tooru (5:11PM):] _Did you??_

After the messages stop coming through, Wakatoshi sighs and opens his chat thread with Oikawa. The setter had messaged him the day after the party, demanding he talk to Satori as soon as possible. Wakatoshi had already planned to reach out to Satori by then, but wasn’t so sure if the timing was appropriate. Not until it was all he could think about the past two days.

A few minutes before he started drafting his message to Satori, he told Oikawa that he was going to do it, and thanked him and Iwaizumi for all their help. He now realizes that was probably a bad idea, but knows he can’t back out now. He responds, hoping Oikawa will finally stop badgering him.

[Me (5:13PM):] _Yes._

**_(Oikawa Tooru is Calling)_ **

Wakatoshi’s brow twitches as his thumb hovers over the answer button.

“Good evening Oikawa,” he greets, all attempts at masking his discontent failing.

“What did he say??” Oikawa shrieks on the other end. Wakatoshi winces and pulls the phone away from his ear.

“He said that he was available. We will be meeting this Friday.”

“Ah! Thank Go- Hey!!” Loud rustling and fumbling echoes through the line as Wakatoshi moves the phone even further away before switching it to speaker. He listens to Iwaizumi and Oikawa arguing intermittently amongst the noise for another few seconds until Iwaizumi’s voice rings clear through the speaker.

“Good Luck.” _Click._

Wakatoshi stares down at his phone a third time until it goes dim, threatening to lock itself. He pulls up the café website to send the address to Satori, then places the phone down on the couch beside him. In just a few days he would be seeing Satori again, willingly for the first time in several years.

After all this time, his heart still pumps just a bit harder at the thought. Perhaps it’s nostalgic residual from how his body once responded to the inherent meanings of it: hearing his quirky voice, smelling his familiar floral scent, burning alive under his touch, subtle yet completely deliberate. Wakatoshi turns over to lie fully on the couch and buries his face in a throw pillow. A small smile curls his lips. It’s the first time in a while that the thought of Satori makes him smile, and for this small moment, he’ll appreciate feeling just a bit lighter. 

****

Wakatoshi exits the showers of the Adler’s home training facility and rests on a bench to finish drying his hair. He and Satori agreed to meet after his early practice and take advantage of a rare afternoon clear of promotional shoots and interviews. Hoshiumi enters the locker room as Wakatoshi digs into his gym bag to retrieve a comb and hair product.

“You alright? You seemed kinda scattered today,” Hoshiumi asks, eyeing the clothes Toshi has set aside for his _not a date_ with Satori.

“I suppose so. I am meeting with someone soon and I might be a little nervous.”

“Oh, for an interview? But you should be used to that by now? What kinds of questions are they asking you??” Hoshiumi needles.

“No, it’s a friend.” He’s not sure why he feels the need to be so vague about it, as if it’s some clandestine rendezvous. It’s a meeting with a friend; an _old friend is what_ he would have deliberately said a week ago. He regrets that with every fiber of his being now.

“You’re nervous about a friend? Now, that definitely doesn’t sound right. I hope whatever it is you’re nervous about works out, though. It’s kind of creepy to see you like this. You’ll be better by game time, right??” Wakatoshi pulls a gray, long-sleeved sweater on and waits a moment, unsure if Hoshiumi is finished talking.

“Please don’t worry about it Kourai, I think I’ll be alright,” he assures with a small smile, amused at Hoshiumi’s less than tactful attempt at checking in on him. “I appreciate your concern, though.”

“No problem…”

And he truly does, seeing as how he’s feeling a bit less nervous than just ten minutes ago. Hoshiumi is right, he probably shouldn’t be nervous about meeting a friend. He would still trust Satori with his life; talking should not be this stressful. They are responsible for making things the way they currently are, and he, at least, wants to take charge in fixing it.

He pulls on a pair of fitted dark jeans and slips into casual running shoes before making his way over to a mirror to fix his hair. Hoshiumi is still watching him with those intense eyes of his, then speaks up again when Wakatoshi faces away from him.

“Do you need another mirror? To see the back?” Wakatoshi raises a brow as he combs through olive fringe.

“Sachirou always uses a hand mirror to see the back of his head when he’s getting ready, and he made me carry one too.” Hoshiumi walks up to the mirror cubby Wakatoshi has occupied and places a small, rectangular mirror on the ledge next to the jar of hair cream.

“You can give it back to me later. I’m heading out now.” Hoshiumi claps a hand on his shoulder then heads toward the door.

“Thank You,” Wakatoshi says, watching Hoshiumi exit the locker room. He picks up the hand mirror and smiles to himself again, realizing Hoshiumi may have understood the nature of his plans a lot sooner than he thought.

****

Wakatoshi exits Shinjuku Station, pulling the zipper of his jacket up against a blast of cool, late-November air. He soon arrives at Tokyo Orchard just a few blocks away from the station and is seated at a table within their indoor terrace overlooking a busy side street. He sends Satori a message letting him know where he is in the café and waits, eyes flashing to the entrance of the terrace area every few seconds.

The bustle of Shinjuku is reduced to dull background noise by the glass walls and windows, creating a much more serene space than the looming buildings initially present. Fresh cut lilies placed at the center of the table supply a sweet aroma that wafts in the air. He likes this café because of the abundance of greenery decorating the space. Each table has a set of fresh flowers, and the bar a floor below sports an elaborate backsplash of living vines that occasionally blooms as well. There are only two other people at a table in the opposite corner of the room, chatting away about a music concert they recently attended. Wakatoshi focuses his attention back on the phone sitting in front of him. A message comes through and his heart skips a beat. 

[Tendou Satori (2:01PM):] Here, coming up now.

He’s nervous again, he realizes before slipping out of his jacket and draping it on the back of his chair. Red hair pops up in his peripheral vision as Satori walks through the entrance of the terrace. His body freezes, as if all faculties have been prioritized to his eyes as he takes in Satori’s approaching form. He’s all legs in a pair of dark skinny jeans and a black oversized hoodie. A light jacket drapes over the hoodie, unbuttoned and open to show minimalist text on the black fabric. He still walks with lanky nonchalance as he always has, but his neutral expression is no longer that of the happy-go-lucky boy he first fell in love with. Those crimson orbs tell so much more now, and Wakatoshi hates knowing he’s partly responsible for the undercurrent of solemnity behind them.

Satori is already seated before Wakatoshi realizes he hasn’t even stood to greet him and perhaps hug him. He blinks back into the moment and bows his head in apology.

“I apologize for not greeting you properly, I-”

“It’s alright. I’m relieved, really. To see you just as nervous as I am,” Satori says, speaking softly as he removes his jacket. “What should I get?”

Wakatoshi clears his throat and glances down at the menu in front of him. “I enjoy their fresh fruit parfaits, but because it is colder, I would suggest the curry.”

Satori nods and continues to flip through the menu, but Wakatoshi never opens his. He honestly forgot about the whole eating and drinking part of visiting a café. His mind has been busy, fixated on the things he wants to talk to Satori about. Despite the team practice he just left, he’s not very hungry, so he settles on getting a fruit parfait after all.

Awkward silence settles between them after a server comes to take their orders. Wakatoshi inhales, ready to tell him everything. That he misses Satori, still adores him, and suddenly feels incredibly lonely, knowing that he is within reach again-

Satori speaks up, just before Wakatoshi’s lips part to speak. “Hey, last weekend at the party. I didn’t get a chance to say bye before you left?” 

“Was everything okay?” Satori continues, lowering his eyes to fingers idly rubbing at the condensation on his glass of water.

“Oikawa and Iwaizumi convinced me to leave with them. We talked at a restaurant for a while.” Wakatoshi notices Satori’s fingers stop at the mention of their names, then continue sliding along the glass as he continues.

“They observed that things were… off between us and asked me about our relationship. I told them what happened. They seemed worried,” Wakatoshi explains. His gaze leaves Satori’s fingers to search his eyes for a reaction. It’s obvious Satori is trying his best to avoid eye contact, and it hurts.

“I’ve missed you,” Wakatoshi continues, and Satori finally reciprocates his gaze. He wants to grab onto those fidgeting hands and never let go. He knows they’re probably cold and need warming, anyway; they always did. 

“I’ve missed you too… you have no idea, Wakatoshi.”

“I think I do,” he replies with warming cheeks. “I want to see you more.” 

Satori’s lips curve into a slight smile, it’s still tinged with sadness, but it’s something. He can also tell Satori is biting at the inside of his mouth, a nervous habit he’s had for a while. 

“I think that can be arranged,” Satori says, smile broadening. 

“Wakatoshi, how have you been? Like, honestly. Tell me everything.”

So he does. They talk about the last few years and what they’ve been up to. Satori tells him about a national baking competition he took part in and almost won. He tells Satori about his Polish second mom and how she emails him almost every day. They do their best to catch up on years of unfortunate silence. 

“Why did you come back?” Wakatoshi asks, wondering if this will be a permanent change, or if Satori plans to leave again at some point. He doesn’t want it to matter, but he still feels anxious thinking about it.

“Things just started to feel stagnant. I’ve always had goals of starting my own business, but it just felt kind of uninspired to open up another shop in Paris. I decided I wanted to bring what I learned back here and maybe, eventually give some weird kids an opportunity I wish I had back then. Not that I regret going to Paris. It was definitely eye opening and worth every moment.”

Wakatoshi nods in understanding and tries his best to suppress the relief washing over him from the answer. It shouldn’t matter. He has no intentions of ignoring the yearning spreading like wildfire in his chest. The fire has already reached his extremities by now, licking at the tips of his fingers as they lie restless in his lap, itching to touch. 

“I’m still looking at potential business spaces. It’s really becoming exhausting. I’ve practically given up on apartment searching at this point.” Satori says, taking the last bite of his curry. 

“Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help. Have you gotten a new phone number yet?” Wakatoshi asks. And so they exchange numbers. They’ve been at the café for almost two hours now, but neither of them seems to want to leave just yet. Wakatoshi knows Satori probably has things to do, so he extends his first offer to meet again.

“I have a game here in Tokyo next week. I would like you to come watch if you’re available.” He’s not sure if it’s too soon to ask to see him again, but he knows it’s what he wants.

“Oh, yeah. Actually, Tsutomu invited me to that game a few weeks ago. I’ll be there!” Wakatoshi blinks in surprise, and wonders how he would have reacted to seeing Satori at the game, having no idea he’d be there.

“Ah, it’s getting late, and I’m sure you’re really busy…” Satori says, eyeing the receipt of their bill that Wakatoshi offered to pay for. He wants to keep talking to Satori but doesn’t want to overwhelm him either, so he nods, showing he’s taken the hint and pulls his jacket back on. Satori does the same and hesitates for a moment, flashing that sad smile again, before rising from his seat.

“It was really good to see you, and talk, Wakatoshi…” Satori pulls nervously at the oversized sleeves of his hoodie as he stands next to the table. 

“I agree. I look forward to seeing you soon, next week,” Wakatoshi says, stepping closer to Satori. He wants to hug him. They should hug. This he feels true. Their eyes meet and Wakatoshi closes the gap, immediately indulging in Satori’s scent. It’s a new unfamiliar cologne, but the undertone of his natural essence is never to be forgotten. Satori’s arms raise, allowing Wakatoshi to circle thick arms around the lean torso. He pulls him in and wonders, as Satori’s hands land between his shoulders, if squeezing him the way he knows Satori likes would be too much. He decides against it and pulls away before he makes another mistake.

They part ways at the station and Wakatoshi boards the train. He thinks about the hug they just shared, how good it was to touch him again, and how it felt like a silent promise to give each other another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always, kudos or comments are much appreciated! We love to hear your thoughts and reactions! We're both on twitter, come talk to us:  
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> Also with all the holidays coming up, our schedule will be a little weird and updates may be erratic for bit. Don't worry though, we're still working almost nonstop on this!


	8. Filling in the blanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First we need to say: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE REACTIONS AND COMMENTS!!! Seeing you all enjoy our fic really means the world to us and makes us incredibly happy!! <3 We love to see your thoughts, this is so inspiring and makes us really emotional. 
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> This chapter is a little late for the holidays, so we hope you all are still in the mood.  
> ALSO HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE AND ENJOY!

**[November 30** **th** **, 2024 – 12:25 pm]**

“I’ll have two pairs, for the Adlers _and_ Red Falcons, please!” Satori chirps to the merch stand worker in the lobby of the arena. She nods and hands him two sets of thundersticks. The white and blue design of the Adlers’ sticks clashes with the bright red of the Falcons ones as he tucks them under his arm.

“Hopefully we can find a middle area of the gym so I can cheer for both our boys!” Satori sings as he makes his way back to Semi and Taichi, who are standing off to the side of the merch area. Semi eyes the thundersticks warily before grabbing the red ones and flashing a competitive smirk.

“Yeah, sure. I’ve been cheering for Goshiki for years, now. I can’t be a traitor, so thanks for these.” Satori rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. “Alright, alright, I didn’t realize I was dealing with the president of the fan club. Relax–”

“Uncle Taichi!!” a small child shrieks, running full speed at the ginger. A pair of French braids swing in the air as she hugs Taichi’s leg and jumps excitedly in place. She’s wearing a slightly oversized Goshiki jersey over her orange dress. “Hello Koemi,” Taichi greets her, returning about 2% of the energy she’s giving him. Reon approaches just seconds behind his daughter, catching his breath. 

“She spotted you the second we walked in. Sorry, there was no stopping her,” He apologizes, but smiles warmly at Koemi and Taichi.

Semi puts on a mock frown as he kneels down to her level. “Wow, Koemi. What about me? I’m way cooler than him.” He drops his head into folded arms and Koemi hugs him with a consoling pat on the back. “It’s okay. But you are now coolest uncle #3.” She releases Semi and turns toward Satori. “Hi! I’m Koemi. You’re like a real red falcon!!”

Satori’s gasps with surprise before bursting into laughter. “Well, I suppose I could be!! I’m Satori, nice to meet you!”

Semi raises up and dejectedly starts walking toward the court entrance and the group follows. “Geez, get over it. I’ll always be the favorite and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Taichi nudges at Semi with a cocky grin. Satori tilts his head curiously at Reon. “Taichi? Really?”

“He gave her cookies once and then he became her favorite person,” Reon explains, chuckling.

They find a few seats as close to the middle of the court as possible, per Satori’s demands, and get settled in.

Eventually, the main lights of the arena go dark and colored strobes dance to upbeat entrance music. The Red Falcons enter first and Satori and Semi begin screaming the second Goshiki pops into the arena. Goshiki instantly spots them and grins proudly, obviously trying his best to look cool around his teammates. One of the Red Falcons cheerleaders placed in the stands to encourage the crowd flashes a bright smile at the group that says ‘Wow, you guys don’t need me’ before focusing her attention on the other spectators in their seating area. 

Satori’s heart flutters in anticipation as the Adlers make their way onto the court. The crowd becomes noticeably louder as the MC introduces Wakatoshi. He’s as popular as he has ever been since the press began making a big deal out of his return to Japan.

“Miracle Boy!! Wakatoshi!!!” Satori yells, waving one of his thundersticks. Wakatoshi looks up toward them and waves back at them for an extra few seconds before continuing to greet the rest of the crowd. Satori settles back in his seat and struggles to keep his eyes off Wakatoshi. He watches him debrief with the rest of the Adlers, and a wave of nostalgia washes over him. Wakatoshi speaking with his teammates, nodding curtly when he’s addressed is a beautifully familiar sight until one of the warmest smiles he’s ever seen grace his ex’s face nearly short circuits Satori’s brain.

He stares, unblinking as Wakatoshi’s shoulders bounce with a quick laugh, seemingly at a joke their libero made. He’s seen Wakatoshi smile plenty of times, and has even made him laugh, but he’s watching what he would have otherwise thought to be a rare phenomenon happen right before him. _He’s changed._ It’s not a 180 or anything, but Satori knows better than anyone that years traveling abroad will expose one to many experiences, evolving them in unexpected ways. Satori bites at the inside of his mouth, nearly on the verge of tears at the thought. He’s not sure if they’re from him being overjoyed at this development or achingly somber. Perhaps, even worse, he could be bitter at the thought of missing out on Wakatoshi cultivating this more socially open side of himself.

“Hey, you alright?” Semi nudges him out of the spiral of thoughts. Satori straightens in his seat, releasing the deep breath he held through the sobering moment.

“Yeah, I’m fine. He’s just–”

The game start whistle is blown, and the crowd erupts in cheers for the first serve coming from the Red Falcons. The Adler’s libero struggles to dig the powerful serve, but he gets the ball up well enough for their setter to send it cleanly to Wakatoshi. His spike blasts through two blockers for the first point of the game. Reon (and Koemi), Semi, and Taichi give Satori a nod before he stands, thundersticks in hand.

Satori’s chest swells with a deep breath. “NIIIICE KIIILL, U-SHI-JI-MA!” Then, the rest of the group stands to join him.

_Bang Bang_

“Ushijima!”

_Bang Bang_

_“_ Ushijima!”

Wakatoshi looks up at them in surprise along with his teammates, before getting bombarded with slaps to the back and praise. An amused smile curves Wakatoshi’s lips as he continues to stare up at them on his way to the end line for his serve. It feels like Wakatoshi’s gaze is focused only on him as Satori sits down. He swallows hard before Wakatoshi breaks their locked eyes to proceed with his serve. It’s strong and hits the top of the net, causing it to drop unexpectedly. The Red Falcon’s libero doesn’t get to it in time, earning the Adlers another point. They receive Wakatoshi’s next serve and counter with a thunderous spike from their own Opposite hitter.

At Goshiki’s serve, Semi stands to cheer and Koemi follows, banging her thundersticks together.

Satori’s mouth opens wide with surprise as he turns toward Reon.

“Yeah, she’s his biggest fan,” Reon informs him with a sheepish grin. Goshiki slams a no-touch ace on the Adlers, then does it twice more before the Adlers are able to stop his streak with a vicious spike from their outside hitter.

And the pace for the rest of the game is set. Goshiki continues to blast precise serve after precise serve, while Wakatoshi and his fellow attackers do their best to overtake and outplay the Falcons blocks. In the end, the Red Falcons win, taking two consecutive sets after winning the first set and losing the second.

****

“I’m starving,” Semi complains, and eyes Koemi’s Anpanman crackers enviously while they wait near the back exit. If the little girl notices at all, she ignores him with perfectly staged innocence and offers the bag to her favorite uncle instead. Taichi takes some and munches them audibly with a broad grin. 

“Yeah, about that,” Reon speaks up. “There’s a Christmas market at Roppongi Hills and I promised to take Koemi there. Want to join us?” 

“A Christmas market, huh?” Satori looks up curiously and puts his phone away. He knows that there are several in Tokyo, but he hasn’t been in the festive spirits recently to look them up. Third wheeling a romantic market with Semi and Taichi hasn’t been an attractive notion but going alone is even worse and the one person he’d like to ask—well, he’s not ready for that yet. 

“It’s hosted by the German embassy and some German institute, I think, so it should be pretty authentic,” Reon explains and scratches his head. “Germany is not France, I know, but I thought you might like it.” 

Satori chuckles at that, but before he can answer, he hears a door open and Koemi lets out an excited shriek. Pushing her bag of crackers in Taichi’s hands, she jumps to her feet and runs towards her second favorite uncle. 

Satori takes a steadying breath to calm his nerves, before turning around himself. Immediately, his gaze is drawn to Wakatoshi. He’s changed from his Adlers’ jersey into dark jeans and a black pea coat, but his hair is still damp. His cheeks are slightly flushed, be it from the shower or from the exertion of the match. Satori swallows hard, and a shiver runs down his spine when their eyes meet. 

“H-Hey, Miracle Boy,” he greets, voice thick and clears his throat. 

“Hello, Satori.” Wakatoshi seems to hesitate as he stops before him, then he takes another step closer and pulls him into a tight hug. Satori tenses for a second, before he gives in and sneaks his arms around his friend’s waist. The still familiar scent of minty shower gel engulfs him, and he takes a deep breath, leaning into the heat radiating off Wakatoshi despite the layers of clothing between them.

“Thank you for cheering for me,” he hears the deep voice close to his ear, almost feeling the vibrations and bites his lip, fingers fidgeting with the woolen fabric of Wakatoshi’s coat. He wants to reply but all his eloquence fails him. 

“Your serves were like _WABOOSH_ ,” Koemi exclaims, loud and excited, and saves him from coming up with words when his brain can’t form a single coherent thought. They let go to look at her as she imitates the motions she saw on court.

“And then your one spike went _KABLAM_ ,” she continues, stomping to stress the impact. Noticing how close they still are, Satori takes a step back and glimpses another warm smile on Wakatoshi’s lips. 

“I know, right!?” Goshiki smiles proudly with sparkling eyes and crouches down to hug her. “I’m really happy you came to see me, Koemi!”

“Sorry to disturb all your lovely biggest fan reunions,” Semi interjects, “but I’m still starving.”

“Right,” Reon remembers and turns toward the entire group. “I was saying, there’s a Christmas market at Roppongi Hills. The flyer says they have real German food. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Sure!!” Goshiki agrees enthusiastically and takes Koemi by the hand to head for the exit, when no one objects. It’s not far to the station and Satori is glad when Taichi falls in step next to Wakatoshi to talk about the match, granting him a little time to sort out his thoughts. 

****

At Kodaira station, they get on the express line to Shinjuku and find some vacant seats in the back of the train car. With rush hour starting, most people travel in the opposite direction, leaving the train less crowded. While Goshiki, Wakatoshi and Reon prefer to stand and continue their discussion of the finer points of the match, Satori takes a seat and watches the neighborhood pass by outside the window. 

Excitement from the match lingers as restless energy under his skin. He taps his slender fingers on the armrest in an unsteady rhythm, trying to shake off the image of Wakatoshi’s elegant spiking form burnt into his mind. TV broadcasts can’t compare and watching a live match made him painfully realize that he _really_ missed this. He knew beforehand that it’d be hard to pay attention to anyone but Wakatoshi. Even so, he wasn’t prepared for this; to watch him move around the court, every motion quick and executed perfectly. To watch him hit those spikes with deadly precision and effortless grace. He wasn’t prepared for his fleeting wishes to be down there with him, just to relive those times when they were the closest and completely unbothered by the tribulations of adulthood. 

Despite the animated debate right next to him, he’s not in the mood to discuss the Falcons’ setter, that one swift block by the Adlers’ middle blocker in the fourth set or Goshiki’s crazy diagonal spike, hitting just inside the bounds by a hair’s breadth. He can’t possibly analyze any of it when he only watched Wakatoshi while everyone else watched the game. His mind is still occupied by the replaying images in his head. 

“Oji-san, I want to sit with you,” Koemi speaks up suddenly, bored by the volleyball conversation. She lets go of her father’s hand and climbs onto the bench next to him. 

“Sure, princess,” Satori smiles at her, glad for the distraction to keep him from overthinking and to keep his gaze from drifting over to Wakatoshi, who looks just as striking in his coat as he did in his Adlers’ uniform. 

“Papa says you’re a… con-um… con-uh… you make sweets,” Koemi says and scrunches up her little button nose, dissatisfied with settling on the easier phrase. A second later, her face lights up again as she remembers something else to tell him. “I can make sweets, too! Last week we made mochi with Takahashi-san!“

“She’s her kindergarten teacher,” Reon interjects for clarity before turning back to the volleyball conversation while Koemi proceeds to excitedly give away Takahashi-san’s mochi secrets. Somehow, she ends up talking about snowflake paper cuts and recites the poem she learned by heart for her performance before winter break. It’s fun to listen to her, especially when she mentions hoping for a kitten for Christmas and Reon pretends not to hear, but grimaces. 

Satori nods and hums now and then, asking about her friends and her favorite Christmas cartoon, which she then describes in great detail while his thoughts drift back to watching Wakatoshi. His post-game excitement is slowly transforming into pre-market nervousness, similar to the uncertainty he felt before their meeting at the café. They are with their friends this time, but there will surely be some opportunities to be alone, and the thought fills him with equal amounts of pleasant anticipation and jittery apprehension.

The train stops at Nakai station, interrupting his thoughts, and they change lines. Reon picks up Koemi to let her ride on his shoulders as the trains become increasingly crowded in the city center. 

****

When they step out of the station, dusk is settling over the city as the last rays of sun vanish behind the high-rise buildings of Roppongi Hills. The market is only a short walk away with banners on the street lights pointing the way. The trees lining the street are covered in so many tiny bright lights up to the tips of their branches they give the impression of ice sculptures, bathing the sidewalk in their blueish glow. Koemi squeals with excitement and Semi pulls out his phone immediately to take pictures, prompting Taichi to hide behind Goshiki. 

They take a turn and catch a glimpse of Tokyo Tower in the distance, illuminated in red and gold, a stark contrast to their wintery surroundings. It reminds Satori of the small Christmas market on Quai Branly, at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, covered in a thin blanket of snow. Exhaling deeply through his nose, he forces a smile when Semi points the camera his way. Wakatoshi falls into step beside him, and Satori casts a curious glance at him. His fingers tingle and he pushes them deeper into the pockets of his jacket. 

Meeting at the café has resolved some tension, but it didn’t change the way his pulse speeds up when they’re this close, or that he has to remember how to act casually, caught up between slipping into old habits and treading carefully. In front of them, Semi shouts confusing instructions at Goshiki, as they attempt to take a group picture with Taichi and Koemi in front of the sparkling trees. Somehow, the quarreling soothes his nerves and changes the atmosphere, making it lighter, safer, and less intimate. Satori lets his curiosity gain the upper hand. 

“I forgot to ask, so… where have you been staying all this time? Did the Adlers’ set you up somewhere?” he says, tilting his head curiously. Nakamura-san let him know that the apartment went to someone else, but he never found out whether Wakatoshi got it. Realizing that he still doesn’t even know about some of the most basic aspects of his friend’s life stings. There is so much to catch up on and he wants to, but it’s also a constant reminder of what they've allowed to happen. 

“No. My family owns a small house in Kiyose,“ Wakatoshi answers and Satori can’t help but chuckle and raise a brow. Ushijima standards have always been a little different—there is nothing small about anything his family owns, except for the elaborate bonsai Wakatoshi’s mother nourishes and cherishes. 

“Small, huh? You sure about that?” he replies in a light-hearted, teasing tone, resisting the urge to nudge Wakatoshi with his elbow. An invisible border seems to exist between them when it comes to touching, discouraging him from acting too familiar. 

“So, my well-travelled friends, what do you say?” Reon interrupts them, turning around with a cheerful grin when they reach their destination, arms spread wide to present the cozy little Christmas market under the high glass roof of O-Yane plaza. “Didn’t promise too much, did I?” 

About a dozen wooden booths line the plaza, richly ornamented with evergreens, baubles and various other Christmas decorations. Fairy lights frame the sheds and cover the high glass roof, bathing the plaza in soft golden light. Bar tables are set up around a huge Christmas pyramid in the center, turning slowly so its colorful carved nativity figurines seem to dance around each other. 

Satori closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. The air smells of sizzling sausages and ham, simmering stew, and spiked wine with sweet undertones of candied nuts and chocolate fruits. He can almost pretend he’s in Paris if it weren’t for the Japanese spoken all around him and mild temperature. As much as he loved the atmosphere of the European Christmas markets, he sure froze his ass off selling chocolates there. 

“It looks very authentic. Thank you for taking us here,” Wakatoshi replies to Reon, gentle voice and words making Satori’s skin tingle. So, he’s not the only one feeling a little nostalgic. 

“Yeah, thanks. It’s beautiful,” he agrees, opening his eyes again and smiling at Reon before Koemi impatiently tugs her father toward the nearest stall. They agree to have a look at everything before getting food together. It takes Semi less than three minutes to buy two floppy red Santa hats—one which he wears proudly and one which he forces onto Goshiki. 

About half of the booths sell food and drink but there are also wooden toys, popular German collectibles, delicate glass works and advent calendars. Satori has to agree, it’s genuine, and he’s tempted to buy some cheesy decorations for Semi’s apartment. Strolling over to a stall selling sweets, he examines the displayed candy curiously: iced gingerbread, glossy red toffee apples, various candied nuts, marzipan shaped like tiny trees and animals, but no proper pralines. He takes a mental note to look into applying for the market next year, when his business is finally set up. 

They split up to buy spiked wine and sausage rolls while Reon gets his daughter a cup of punch and some sweets. Goshiki complains about his Santa hat while they wait in line, but refuses to take it off when Wakatoshi offers to free him of it. The line for food is much shorter than the one at the stalls selling drinks, so they make it to the bar tables in the center first and pick one right next to the Christmas pyramid. 

“You know, Tsutomu, this one kind of looks like you with your cute lil hat,” Satori points out, smiling innocently, and gestures at one of the moving figurines depicting St. Nicholas carrying an enormous bag of presents. 

“Good luck with the beard,” Wakatoshi comments impassively and Satori almost chokes on his bun at the sudden display of dry humor. 

“Drinks are here!” Semi announces cheerfully, joining them at the bar table, and Taichi places a tray with six steaming cups of dark spiked wine on the table. Goshiki eyes it suspiciously, looking somewhat unsure, while everyone else takes their cup from the tray. 

“I really shouldn’t drink during the season,” he mutters in between bites of his bun and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“C’mon, don’t be such a goodie two shoes,” Semi nudges him, rolling his eyes dramatically. “It’s just wine, you can have some. He can have some, right?” He looks at Wakatoshi for support, who sets down his own cup after a careful sip and shrugs slightly. 

“There is no off-season for drinking in Poland,” he states straight-faced and everyone stares at him for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. Satori chuckles with the rest of them, but his eyes get caught on the smile playing on Wakatoshi’s lips. A fluttering warmth fills his chest, and he pretends it’s only the spiked wine kicking in.

“Christmas is a big deal in Poland, huh? Is there anything you miss?” Reon asks and lets Koemi have a bite of his sausage roll. Since she’s too small for the bar table, she’s allowed to sit on the decorative fence surrounding the Christmas pyramid and he has one arm around her to make sure she keeps her balance. 

Wakatoshi ponders for a moment, knitting his brows before he answers: “Piernik and Pierogi z kapustą i grzybami.” 

Satori blinks, suppressing a pleasant shudder, and focuses on wiping some spilt mustard off his fingers, while Wakatoshi explains the pastry and dumplings, throwing in more Polish expressions. The foreign language rolling off his tongue makes goosebumps rise on Satori’s skin, and this time he can’t blame the wine. It sounds strange and fascinating and makes him realize once more what he missed out on during the last few years. 

They could have experienced all this together. He could have been there for Christmas, taking the afternoon flight to Warsaw after they closed the shop early on Christmas Eve. He could have spent the holidays there, maybe even New Year, watching the fireworks above the Vistula before returning to Wakatoshi’s Warsaw apartment. He doesn’t even know what Wakatoshi’s place looked like and–

“That sounds really good, but not as good as the flaming fire tongs punch they sell over there,” Semi says, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. He bumps into Satori, searching for his wallet. “Who wants to try some?” 

Taichi volunteers, of course, and Goshiki is dragged along under mild protests in what Semi declares a mission to _broaden his cultural horizons_. 

“He should learn to say ‘No,’” Wakatoshi comments, but Reon shakes his head, grinning as he watches them walk away. 

“Nah, he’s fine. Happens every time. He’s just trying to ease his conscience,” he explains and helps Koemi climb down from the fence. 

“What’s flaming fire tongs punch?” she asks curiously, trying to spot the others in the crowd. “Is it really _on_ _fire_? Doesn’t that _hurt_?”

“You’re too young for that kind of knowledge, little lady,” Reon tells her and wipes some smeared chocolate from her chubby cheeks. “Ready to look at those toys again?” 

“I promised her she can pick one,” he admits with a helpless sigh, while rubbing his chin sagely. “Guess I should learn to say ‘No.’” 

“Good luck with that,” Satori chuckles and winks at Koemi conspiratorially.

The little family wanders over to one of the stalls and Satori finds himself alone with Wakatoshi, just as he anticipated. Awkward silence settles between them and he takes a deep breath, calming the antsy flutter of his nerves. There is nothing to be nervous about, this is no different from meeting at the café. Still, he wonders briefly how long it will take for those moments to feel normal again. 

“So… how was Christmas in Poland?” He tries to come up with an innocuous topic, picking up their earlier conversation. He never cared much about Christmas before moving to Paris, but after living there for over ten years, he has grown quite fond of the holiday. Judging from Wakatoshi’s first reaction to their current whereabouts, he can tell he feels the same. 

Whenever he worked at one of the Christmas markets in France, Belgium or Germany, he would imagine spotting Wakatoshi in the crowd. He dreamt about them roaming the market together, huddled close against the cold, warm hand clasping his. It’s kind of ironic that they had to come back to Japan to finally end up in a Christmas market together, yet it’s nothing like what he imagined all those years ago. Maybe it could be, given time. 

He glances up from his cup and meets hazel eyes across the table. Wakatoshi looks at him in an unfathomable way that reminds him of how easy it used to be to read him. Now, he can only wonder whether he was ever as good at it as he believed himself to be—can only wonder how much he misinterpreted over the years and if distance really changed them so much. 

“Last year, I spent Christmas with Michał, our setter,” Wakatoshi begins and places his cup down on the table, stretching his shoulders. 

_Always the setters, huh?_ The thought comes completely unbidden and Satori averts his gaze, stopping himself right there. He has no reason to be jealous of someone he doesn’t even know. 

“He has a big family. Five kids,” Wakatoshi continues and Satori feels even sillier for his petty thoughts. “It was… very nice and festive.” 

Noticing the brief pause, Satori looks up and raises his brows questioningly. “Nice and festive, huh?” 

A small smile forms on Wakatoshi’s lips and Satori suddenly has a hard time focusing. It looks good on him, stern features softening, a spark of humor entering his hazel eyes. 

“I’ve never had to eat so much in my life. Or drink,” Wakatoshi tells him and then explains the tradition of serving twelve dishes before exchanging gifts under the Christmas tree and going to mass at midnight, followed by drinks until the early hours of the morning and an opulent breakfast before going to bed. Satori grins as Wakatoshi recounts Michał groggily dancing around the room while his brother-in-law fell asleep under the Christmas tree, almost inhaling lametta with every snoring breath. 

It’s hard to imagine Wakatoshi partying all night with an endless supply of vodka and the scene plays out in his head like a movie, vivid and entertaining but not quite realistic. His smile slowly fades as he watches the lights overhead reflect in the remains of his lukewarm spiked wine and Wakatoshi’s recounting comes to an end. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, uh, it’s just…” Satori sighs and shakes his head. He feels silly, again, for ruining the mood and letting his feelings get in the way.

“There’s just a lot about you I still don’t know… three years is a long time,” he admits honestly and looks up into Wakatoshi’s warm and open eyes, perceiving the slight concern in them. He has to be honest if they want to regain the bond they once had. And they are trying, right? 

“Do you want to know more?” Wakatoshi asks calmly, and it sounds like an offer. 

“Yeah.” The answer slips out before he consciously thinks about it and Satori blinks, pausing a moment to listen to his inner voice. He wants to know all the details, now that they have another chance to talk. He wants to hear all those strange stories about Poland, even if they remind him of their time apart and the distance that still lingers between them. Despite that, the stories sharpen the image of the man before him, adding details he missed the last few years and bringing forth a new understanding of who his friend is now. 

“Yeah,” he repeats, a little surer this time, and smiles. “Tell me more.” 

So Wakatoshi tells him about the boxes upon boxes of Christmas cookies his Polish second mom forced on him every year, about a very efficient drinking game called ‘Here comes the bear!’ and a beautiful event named _the garden of lights_ near Wilanów Palace. Satori tells him about the Christmas markets he worked at and the elaborate chocolate Cathedral he built with his colleagues for the one in Strasbourg. He tells him about freezing worse than ever when they sold chocolates in Freiburg, just across the border, and got an unexpected foot of snow. 

He recounts Henri almost falling into the Seine after eating all the fruit in their leftover rum pot on the sly. Wakatoshi laughs quietly at that and Satori watches him, entranced. His deep voice resonates inside him and kindles the familiar fond sensation that has been growing all evening, slowly becoming more intense and turning into something more than an amicable affection. His breath hitches when he realizes the feeling for what it is, and he bites his cheek, trying to keep himself from going further down this path. 

_It’s happening again_ , the anxious voices in the back of his mind whisper. Here they are, falling into each other, much too fast. _How is it even possible_ , he asks himself, _to slip into this kind of easy familiarity after all this time?_ He has done his utmost to keep these feelings at bay, but they stir anyway and latch onto every chance he’s offered. He thinks of Wakatoshi’s _I’ve missed you_ in the café and takes a steadying breath, reminding himself that he’s not the only one still harboring some feelings. _But are they the same?_

“Guys, we gotta get going,” Reon joins them at their table with an exhausted-looking Koemi snuggled into his arms. “Train ride takes a while, and it’s almost bedtime for the little one,” he adds and reaches up with one hand to straighten the plush reindeer's antlers he bought her.

They say their goodbyes and Satori holds back another sigh at the careful hug Wakatoshi gives the little girl. Looking around after they leave, he spots the rest of their group still close to the stall selling drinks. If their red faces are any indication, they have broadened their horizons quite a bit. 

“C’mon Wakatoshi,” he says and doesn’t keep himself from nudging him with his elbow this time. “We better rescue lil’ Tsutomu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always, kudos or comments are much appreciated! We love to hear your thoughts and reactions! We're both on twitter, come talk to us:  
> [@lavendelshampoo](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo)  
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> 
> The next few chapters will take a little longer to update, but we promise they will be worth it and probably a little longer. We have some more really nice moments in store <3 Even though it'll be a little late as well, we have a New Year's chapter coming up. Thank you for your patience everyone and take care!


	9. Tell me it's the perfect time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, y'all! Sorry for the long wait, but hopefully our longest update so far will make up for it!!
> 
> We can't thank you all enough for sticking with us and continuing to read our little story!! Seriously!!
> 
> Ok I'm done screaming, please enjoy this chapter featuring Satori and Toshi POVs as they celebrate the New Year <33
> 
> Oh! and the usual shoutouts to [Destini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant) for the wonderful beta!

[December 30, 2024 7:05 am]

“Are you sure about this?” Semi asks, watching Satori from the kitchen. Satori drops his suitcase next to the pile of shoes in the genkan before making his way to join Semi.

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to go home, and this is basically a free ride there? And, I don’t know, Wakatoshi and I have been talking a lot. I want to spend some time with him. It’ll be fine.” At least he’s mostly sure it will be fine. When Wakatoshi asked him if he wanted to tag along with him on his drive up to Miyagi for New Year’s he was conflicted with the idea–for about 30 seconds–before telling Wakatoshi he was all for it. Does Satori know he’s giving in to his immediate desires? Yes. Does he know it might not be the greatest idea? Yes.

“As long as you know what you’re doing,” Semi says, pouring cheap coffee into two mugs. Satori internally rolls his eyes. The plan is to visit his parents (and watch them devour the chocolates he worked _really_ hard on in Semi’s tiny kitchen), tire of that, and spend the New Year with Wakatoshi. Then they’ll come back home, and it will be _fine_. Satori grabs his mug and pours too much sugar into it. “I mean, I think I do? If I’m being honest.”

He drinks the coffee a little faster than he should, wincing at the heat of the liquid as he checks the time on his phone. Wakatoshi will be outside the building in about ten minutes, and he’s still got to do a triple check of his bags to make sure he has everything needed for the trip. No, the condoms in the inner pocket of his suitcase were not part of his initial plans. Earlier, Semi insisted he pack them, and Satori begrudgingly obliged. ‘ _It’s just a trip home. We’ve hugged, Semi. That’s it.’_

 _‘But I know you two. I saw at the Christmas market how you both just seemed to act like nothing happened at all. Fucking bring some,’_ Semi said as a faint, yet clearly shit-eating grin formed on his lips.

Satori’s phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket, alerting him of a call from Wakatoshi. Satori answers, slamming the suitcase closed as if Wakatoshi could see the foil packets through the phone.

“Hey, Toshi!”

“Good morning, Satori. I’m outside.”

“Alright. I’ll be out in a minute,” Satori replies before ending the call and drinking as much of his coffee as he can. He places the mug on the counter in front of Semi. “You can have the rest of that if you want. And nothing’s going to happen!” Satori sings, bouncing back over to the door.

Semi rolls his eyes at the not even half-empty mug. “Yeah, whatever. Be safe!”

Outside, Satori spots Wakatoshi waiting in a gray SUV. He waves his free arm animatedly as he approaches and pauses beside the rising hatch door that Wakatoshi opens from within. He drops his small suitcase into the trunk of the car and smiles warmly at Wakatoshi as he twists around in the driver’s seat to greet Satori.

“Morning again, Toshi! This is really all I have! You don’t have to get out,” he says, knowing his next steps were to ask him if he needed any help. He immediately regrets it as he opens the passenger door to get into the car, realizing he’s now missed an opportunity to hug him. Not that it was super important or anything. He brushes off the thought and smiles again at Wakatoshi, who is much closer now and smelling way too good. The car is filled with the scent of his zesty cologne, and Satori mentally kicks himself for getting so worked up over it.

“Are you sure you have everything before we leave?” Wakatoshi asks, slotting his phone into a stand on the dashboard.

“Yeah, I don’t think I can check enough times. What’s forgotten is forgotten at this point, so let’s go!!” Satori cheers, extending his arms forward enthusiastically. Wakatoshi hums a small laugh and shifts the car into reverse to exit the small lot of the apartment complex. Satori settles back into his seat and struggles to stifle the wide grin forming on his lips. He’s thankful that Wakatoshi’s eyes are fixed on the road, keeping him from seeing the blush Satori can feel spreading across his cheeks.

****

Once they’re out of the city and passing through the scattered suburbs and farms between Tokyo and Sendai, they fall into a companionable silence accompanied by the faint hum of the radio. The expanse of fields outside Satori’s window feels never ending. Repeating geometric patterns of land, now barren in the frigid dawn of the new year, already remind him of the farmland surrounding Shiratorizawa. His thoughts drift to countless jogs past the fields spent with Wakatoshi. They drift further until the memory of their first kiss rears itself again. Only this time, he knows the scene won’t devolve into an ironic nightmare. Bony fingers curl in his lap, awakened by the fresh tension he’s now created in thinking about that day. He wants to ask and hear Wakatoshi’s side of that story. _Were you as madly in love with me as I was with you that day? Was that the beginning of something more for you, or were you ready for it too?_

Satori closes his eyes, releasing some of the tightness in his chest with a small sigh. He knows Wakatoshi probably noticed it, but keeps his eyes closed and leans his head against the window. The inevitable next-stop of his train of thought is the golden question: What are they doing? What is this? Every greeting, every shared gaze, and every hug burns hotter with this painfully familiar energy that both pushes them to dive deeper and want to back away at the same time.

His nails dig into the palm of his hand. The body has developed systems and reflexes to protect from danger and destruction. Hunger is balanced by fullness, a warning not to overindulge. The yearning heart beats hard, yet steady, but will also stutter out of control when the anxiety of _fucking this up again_ takes over.

“Satori, I was unsure if asking you to join me was appropriate,” Wakatoshi says, pulling Satori out of his own head. “I hope I haven’t overstepped any boundaries you may have.”

He’s probably saying this because of the sigh a moment ago, so Satori clears things up. “It’s alright, Toshi. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve kind of been holding back myself. I know you’re a busy guy these days.”

“I would seldom hesitate to accept an opportunity to spend time with you.”

Satori accepts Wakatoshi’s words with a curt hum as they cross the threshold of a bridge to pass over Tone River. The rusted iron canopy forms webs of shade underneath the beaming, late morning sun. He turns to look out over the river below and decides on not holding back, at least for now. He can’t help it when Wakatoshi says things like that.

“Remember when I used to drag you down to the woods by the farm on our runs?”

Satori lifts his head from the window to watch Wakatoshi as he responds. The lump in his throat bobs, his hands adjust themselves on the steering wheel, brows tilt inward. Satori knows he’s thinking about what those moments almost always entailed. They would disappear into the cicada infested woods and find somewhere to sit. Sometimes it would be a large rock with space only for one. Satori would usually sit in his lap and kiss him as slowly and gently as possible, if only to cherish the brief respite.

“Yes.”

They reach the end of the bridge and pass back into the continuous scape of farmland. Satori smirks and turns back to the window.

“It’s always so easy to fall back on simpler times. We’re getting so fucking old, it feels harder and harder to remember things like that when you need it,” he murmurs, cheek pressing into his hand propped on the car door.

“That’s why we make new memories,” Wakatoshi simply states.

Satori swipes a thumb across his nose and focuses on a tall grain silo in the distance, processing Wakatoshi’s words. _New memories like those we’ve made over the past couple weeks._ Yeah, that’s fair Satori presumes. He can welcome these fresh memories to both replace the bad ones and make up for those lost to time.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Satori agrees, running a hand through shaggy fuzz. He turns toward Wakatoshi again. His profile shouldn’t be anything new to look at by now, but it’s been some years and this may be one of few times he’s gotten a chance to take him in without being caught staring by someone else. It’s only Wakatoshi he wants to notice, anyway, and even looks forward to it. Few people may know it, but Wakatoshi doesn’t mind attention. It’s only possible to see in his returned gaze that sometimes says, _‘It’s good you’re enjoying yourself, I’ve worked hard.’_

Satori smiles and takes in his share. The same left part in cropped hair cut to perfection that leads to a thick neck on firm shoulders and trapezius muscles. A comfortable sweatshirt in Adlers deep blue keeps toned biceps warm in this chilly winter as his arm stretches out to the steering wheel. Large hands grip the wheel loosely while his thumbs idly caress the leather. Satori tries to remember what that used to feel like on his own hot skin before Wakatoshi shifts his focus to him for a split second before returning to the road ahead. His gaze returns to Wakatoshi’s face to witness his response to catching him staring. Hazel eyes don’t stray, but his lips part for a moment as if he’s ready to speak, but still mulling the words.

“It is probably selfish of me, but I don’t want you to need those distant memories anymore,” Wakatoshi finally says.

Satori huffs a curious laugh. “I guess I’ll look forward to what you have to offer, then.”

****

After Satori grabs his bag from the trunk of the car, Wakatoshi fishes out a flower arrangement from the backseat.

“I thought those were for your mom?” Satori asks, eyeing the assortment of lilies curiously.

“My mother is a hobby botanist; she does not appreciate flowers as gifts. She already has all the flowers she wants. She likes practical things. So I bought her a new watering can and tools.” Wakatoshi says, closing the car door.

“Ah, true. Of course, all I have to offer are chocolates. Don’t forget to let me know how she likes them!” Satori sings, making his way down the sidewalk to his parents’ front door. The Tendou residence is fairly humble, a newer, economical home built along with the others in the area when the neighborhood was first developed. The mature tree in the front yard was once a skinny teenager, just like Satori when they moved to this home. He smiles warmly at it as they pass by and he’s flooded with memories of middle school summers spent under its fledgling shade, reading manga. He wishes he could have spent more time with it as it grew older with him, but there were plenty of trees at Shiratorizawa to spend time under, with friends and even a special someone.

The door flies open as they reach the top of shallow steps and Satori’s mother springs forward.

“Ah! Wakatoshi-kun! It’s been so long! How are you? How was Poland? You get bigger every time I see you! Gosh!” Mariko lilts, pulling Wakatoshi into a tight hug.

“Wow, mom, not even a hey to your literal, actual son. Nah, I get it. This is how it’s always been. Where’s dad?” Satori drones. “I’ll just give _him_ all the chocolates I brought.”

“Now, hold on. That won’t be necessary! Come here!” She releases Wakatoshi and wraps her arms around Satori to pull him into her chest. She’s not much shorter than the both of them, as the parent Satori received his height from.

Satori flashes Wakatoshi a frown that says ‘can you believe this lady?’ and hazel eyes close briefly as he chuckles to himself. _Goddamnit, there he goes again, being like THAT._ Satori really can’t get enough of this freer, easily amused Wakatoshi. He wants to know what else he’ll react so openly to these days. There’s still so much to learn.

“Ah, it's cold! Please come in already!” Mariko says, pushing the both of them into the house. Wakatoshi stays at the genkan and offers Mariko her flowers.

“These are for you, I apologize they are not from mother’s garden, but I assure you they are just as special.” Wakatoshi bows, then smiles warmly as she takes them. Mariko gasps in surprise and looks over to Satori, who smiles weakly at her silent message to him. _Yes, mother, he’s always been a good man, but he’s disgustingly charming now. I KNOW._

“I will take my leave now. Mother is waiting.” Wakatoshi says, interrupting the silent conversation between Satori and his mother.

“Ah, of course, we won’t hold you any longer. Thank you again for these. And please tell her I said hello!”

Wakatoshi nods and turns back toward the door. His grip on the handle is loose and hesitant when his eyes shift to Satori.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Toshi”, Satori reassures him, trying his best to keep the disgustingly romantic excitement he’s been harboring about their New Year’s Eve plans from showing. A tiny smile curves the corner of Wakatoshi’s lips as he slips out the door.

“So...you’ve got plans? Isn’t that nice!” Mariko teases, slapping Satori in the back. She pushes him deeper into the house. “Hurry and get settled. I need help with lunch, Mr. Chef!”

“Mom, I’m a baker, I do chocolate. It’s _different,_ ” Satori groans as he’s manhandled down the hallway.

“Sure, sure. I’m taking no excuses!!”

****

Satori finishes filling a bowl of dry black beans with water and sets them in the refrigerator to soak. He returns to his mother’s side and grabs a few mushrooms to help her chop. She’s been abnormally quiet since they started preparing lunch. He squints at the mushroom in his hand as he brings the knife down to slice it. She’s humming along, but the usual stream of questions about all the people she met once, and only once during her visit to Paris that one year, is missing.

“You’re being weird.”

“Am not.”

“Yeah,” Satori shoots back.

“I’m just excited. It’s not every day you get to see such a beautiful thing happen,” Mariko says, smiling warmly at the apple she’s peeling.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Wakatoshi. You’ve found each other again.”

Satori swings his head up from the mushroom below and immediately avoids the mirrored scarlet of her eyes looking deeply into him, _too deeply_ like they tend to do sometimes. He had a feeling she’d have something to say about them after showing up with Wakatoshi. It’s probably the first time she’s seen him since Golden Week back in 2016 when they decided to break up before Satori returned to Paris.

“Ah, yeah. It’s been a while since we... spent time.” Satori trails off, trying to avoid talking about the years of silence he knows his mom picked up on. She’d ask him how Wakatoshi was doing, and his lack of remotely detailed answers was telling enough.

“Have you forgiven-”

“Yeah, I forgave him, a long time ago. I’ve been ready to move on from it all,” Satori says, chest already aching from talking about this again. But mom is probably the final boss of Talking About It besides Wakatoshi himself; that day will come, maybe.

“I was asking if you’ve forgiven _yourself_ , Satori. I don’t know what happened, but I know you like to blame yourself for a lot of things.”

Satori freezes at her words for a moment. _Forgiven myself?_ That’s not really something he’s even begun to think about. It’s only Wakatoshi who he’d expected to seek forgiveness.

 _Myself._ He repeats in his head as he stares down at the mushroom in his hand. The presence of his mother soaks back into the small bubble of mind-blowing thought he’d fallen into for the moment. Satori tightens his grip on the knife again and continues to slice. He swallows and his lips part to give her an answer, but nothing comes out for a few seconds.

“I...no, I guess I haven’t? Um...” Satori sets the sliced mushroom aside and grabs another.

**_Slice_ **

“I felt like I wasn’t enough for him to try harder.”

**_Slice_ **

“I didn’t think I was enough to make our relationship worth it.”

His mother sets the peeled apple aside and turns toward him. “You can forgive yourself for feeling that way. It wasn’t your fault.”

Satori releases a shaking breath and sets the knife down. He closes his eyes to stop the tears from spilling over, but they do anyway. Showing compassion to himself is not something he’s used to doing, and it rips through him with overwhelming force. His chest remains tight and stinging, and the flowing tears don’t seem to have an end in sight.

She hands him a small towel. “Satori, you are enough. As you are in this moment and any other. No extra requirements or preparations needed. You’ve always been enough since you finally showed yourself to us, screaming at the top of your lungs 30 years ago!”

His lips curl at her subtle jab, classic of her. “It’s good to know I established your expectations early,” Satori says, dabbing at his wet eyes. A warm hand rests on his shoulder as his mother’s head presses into the opposite one.

“You know, I vaguely remember telling you all of this at some point before, but there’s nothing wrong with a refresher. We all need them sometimes. I’m sorry we don’t get to talk about things like this much. I love you Satori and Wakatoshi does, too. I know it.” She squeezes his shoulder in affirmation before pulling him in for a hug.

Satori inhales deeply, then exhales as his head rests on her shoulder now. He’s thankful for her height, as she is one of few women he can hug without hunching his back uncomfortably. Suddenly he feels like he can’t see Wakatoshi again soon enough. _I forgave you, and I’m finally starting to forgive myself. I want to be ready for you to love me again, Wakatoshi. I want to be happy._

****

 _1:03 am_ – Wakatoshi pulls the sleeve of his coat over his watch and returns his hands to warm pockets as he watches the slow-moving traffic on the street. While the weather in Tokyo was relatively mild, a thin blanket of snow covers Sendai, sugarcoating the surrounding roofs and treetops. A shuttle bus swings out of the line of traffic and comes to a halt at a bus stop next to a bright red torii. Groups of people dismount and head for the gate, talking animatedly and pointing at the giant colorful banners and glittering garlands showing the way. Wakatoshi scans the crowd, tensing slightly until he sees a familiar shock of red hair hop off the bus. 

Satori is draped in the most enormous scarf he has ever seen, covering most of his shoulders and neck up to his ears. The checkered pattern clashes with his bright blue padded jacket, but he still manages to appear fashionable. It takes him a few seconds to spot Wakatoshi across the heads of the crowd, then he waves and makes his way over. 

"Hey hey, Wakatoshi," he greets, smiling brightly, and moving in for a hug. Without hesitation, Wakatoshi pulls him close and squeezes him tight. The soft wool of the scarf tickles his face and he takes a deep breath, savoring the well-worn garment’s scent that is all Satori. "Happy New Year," he mumbles quietly, more a statement than a good wish, and squeezes tighter. Hugs are their normal greeting by now, but he’s always tempted to hold on just a little too long, as if it could make up for all the hugs they’ve missed the last few years. Remembering the people around them, he releases Satori from their embrace reluctantly, trailing a hand down his back before truly letting go. 

“Happy New Year to you, too, Miracle Boy,” Satori answers softly and Wakatoshi can’t take his eyes off the crooked smile on his lips. Something shifted on their car ride to Miyagi, but he still can't quite place what and the ambiguous expression on Satori's face offers no explanation. Whatever it is, he appreciates the new ease of their interactions. 

"C'mon, let’s get going." Satori nudges him with his elbow and sets off towards the torii. The walkway to Ōsaki Hachimangū shrine begins right at the bus stop and runs past a few brown multistory buildings before entering a grove. Starting at the road, the first part of the sandō is lined by vendors' stalls followed by colorful banners announcing a midnight food market. The savory smell of shioyaki and miso-slathered corn roasting on the flames wafts through the air, mixing with the caramel flavor of sweet potatoes, baked next to fluffy taiyaki. 

"You hungry?" Satori asks in a teasing tone and Wakatoshi shakes his head, chuckling. After the feast his mother and grandmother dished up, he doesn't feel like he'll crave food any time soon, although sizzling yakitori is always tempting. 

"Yeah, me neither," Satori says and his eyes trail over the various dishes on display while they walk. "Almost had to fight my mom about packing bento for both of us."

Wakatoshi just hums in response. Although Satori’s mother seemed happy to see him the day before, he can’t help but wonder whether she’d still be so determined to prepare bento for him if she knew what transpired between them, if she knew how harsh the last few years have been on her son. Since none of their friends knew until recently, he doubts that Satori filled his parents in on any details. Exhaling deeply, he swallows against the bitter taste of guilt rising in his throat. 

“So, no kimono this year? Wasn’t sure how you’d show up,” Satori interrupts his thoughts as they pass an elderly couple dressed in traditional festive robes and glances at Wakatoshi. Even in the low light, his eyes seem to sparkle with amusement and something else that is hard to place. 

“It wouldn’t be convenient for staying out until sunrise,” Wakatoshi replies. There would have been fitting garments at his mother’s place, he supposes, but given their plans for the night, it seemed inappropriate. Also, spending the last few years abroad left him with a strange sense of alienation regarding some traditional customs. He deplores the notion, but it’s hard to shake off nevertheless. 

“Yeah, true…,” Satori agrees, and a teasing smile returns to his lips. “Always looked good on you, though.” 

“Apologies for disappointing in this,” Wakatoshi answers with a vague gesture over his attire; dark, tight fitted jeans and a dark pea coat. Satori’s eyebrows shoot up and he stares at him for a second, then he huffs and laughs. 

“Starting the New Year real smooth, huh?”

The walkway broadens before them as it ascends in a gentle slope. Garlands with double rows of red and white lanterns illuminate the path from above and lead from torii to torii. The trees and bushes on either side are mostly bare, except for the black pines and a thin blanket of snow covering their brittle branches. The area is just a ten-minute walk from the street, but the small grove is enough to swallow up all traffic noise.

“Been a while since we’ve been here, huh?” Satori remarks, talkative as he used to be, and it kindles a fond warmth in Wakatoshi. It’s not uncommon to have Satori talk about anything and everything, but he still has to get accustomed to it again. A barrier still exists, keeping him from trusting the easy flow of conversation, but it’s getting easier every time they meet and he’s thankful for it. 

He recalls the times they visited the shrine with the whole team during their Shiratorizawa days and the one time he went alone because Satori couldn’t make it back from Paris. The one time he went alone before moving to Poland because there was no _we_. He takes a deep breath, drinking in the distinct scent of crisp winter air and conifers, and pushes those memories back down.

“It’s good to be back,” he says, but it’s not the words resting on the tip of his tongue, urging to be out in the open. 

Satori exhales audibly and looks up at the lanterns, his face bathed in their warm glow. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

“It’s good to have you back,” he tries again, more satisfied with this phrasing. Satori blushes and scratches his neck beneath the huge scarf, suddenly looking a little lost. Maybe the words are imposing too much, Wakatoshi ponders, but he wishes sincerely it were true in every possible sense. 

They reach the chōzuya and wash their hands, mouth and face before entering the main area of the shrine. The water is cold, and Satori rubs his hands after stepping away from the fountain. It would be so easy to reach over, interlock their fingers and hide their hands in his coat pocket – no one would notice in the crowd, but Wakatoshi resists the urge and ascends the low-slung broad steps leading up to the main gate. 

Even though the plaza is swarming with people, a peculiar quiet settles over him while they wait in line to do their prayers. The shrine is a beautiful sight, black lacquer and lavish golden ornaments shimmering in the light of countless lanterns, but Wakatoshi’s gaze is fixed on Satori: with his hair a crown of pure fire in the warm light, and his wide eyes shining, he almost resembles one of the spirits living here. 

The group in front of them moves on, but Wakatoshi is at a loss about what to pray for. What is there to pray for when coincidence – or as some may call it, fate – has already brought both of them back home at the same time? It seems presumptuous to ask for more when he’s been granted this chance, so he settles on the usual: health for his friends, his family, himself, and thanks the gods for allowing him to be lucky one more time. 

“Let’s look at them later, it’s so crowded here,” Satori suggests when they get their omikuji, fiddling with the strip of paper, and Wakatoshi agrees. It’s still a few hours before sunrise, so they decide to find a place to warm up and pass some time.

****

After a short walk, they end up at McDonald’s near Aobadori Station. It’s not the place Wakatoshi imagined he’d spend his New Year’s at, but it’s open 24 hours and conveniently empty. They find a cozy table on the second floor, next to a window overlooking a small side street, and order coffee after dropping off their coats. Satori contemplates getting a Happy Meal for the Tamagotchi toy that comes with it. 

“Remember the one I had in our second year?” He asks while they wait for their coffee, studying the various versions of the toy on display. 

“I remember you and Semi sharing the parental role and fighting over its nutrition,” Wakatoshi answers, a small smile appearing on his lips at the memory. He never understood why they were so invested in the childish toy, but he remembers Satori’s irked fascination when the creature turned into a little devil after being neglected during Nationals. 

When they return to their table, their talk shifts to how their families have been, and Wakatoshi passes on his mother’s best wishes. Satori tilts his head at that, looking somewhat mystified. 

“I thought she might be mad at me…” he explains after a short pause and stirs his coffee slowly, dropping a generous amount of sugar in it. The empty packages pile up on the table. Some things never seem to change. “But you never told her anything, huh?” 

Wakatoshi eyes the sugar packet graveyard between them, but the more serious topic at hand keeps him from commenting on it. He meets Satori’s eyes across the table, conflicted on what to answer. There sure are better places for a serious conversation and Satori is right, he never felt the need to inform his mother in detail about the status of their relationship. 

“It didn’t concern her,” he answers simply and sips on his coffee. It tastes a little burnt and like the cheap paper cup it came in, but its warmth is welcome nevertheless. 

“Yeah, I guess it doesn’t…” Satori trails off, evading his gaze, and watches the counter instead where the last customers are leaving with their bags. A strange aloofness ingrains itself in the atmosphere and Wakatoshi can’t shake the impression that he caused it by giving the wrong answer. _Is there a right one, though?_

“Y’know what,” Satori says and gets up, before he can add anything. “I’ll get that Happy Meal.” 

Wakatoshi just nods and busies himself with his phone while he is gone, answering countless New Year’s wishes in various group chats. 

[Hinata Shōyō @BestNationalTeamEver (12:13AM):]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

[Kageyama Tobio @BestNationalTeamEver (12:15AM):]

It’s 4pm dumbass.

[Hinata Shōyō @BestNationalTeamEver (12:15AM):]

DUH

IN JAPAN IT ISNT

who’s the dumbass now

[Bokuto Kōtarō @BestNationalTeamEver (12:27AM):]

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY FAVORITE TEAMMATES

[Miya Atsumu @BestNationalTeamEver (12:32AM):]

fav teammates my ass, you’re posting that in every gc

Their Shiratorizawa group chat is just as chaotic after Taichi posted a video of a clearly drunk Semi using a streetlight as a pole in front of some crowded club. Wakatoshi decides not to comment on that and places his phone down on the table when Satori returns with his Happy Meal plus a McSundae drowned in chocolate sauce. Just as he sits down, Wakatoshi’s phone screen flashes with another string of messages. 

[Oikawa Tooru (2:41AM):]

Ohhh, look who’s online!

Happy New Year!!!

are you in Sendai??

or with someone special??? 😉😏😏

Iwa-chan is conspiring with Nee-chan to get me drunk

so mean...!! ❤️💔

Wakatoshi skims the messages, furling his brows at the suggestive question and turns the vibrations off, then slides the device in his coat pocket. When he looks up, a strange expression flickers over Satori’s features, but is immediately replaced by a conspicuously neutral look. 

Wakatoshi watches him drown his fries in extra ketchup and mayo and frowns slightly. It’s fairly obvious that Oikawa’s overuse of emojis could be misconceived at a quick glance, but there is no reason for that interpretation and Satori should know this. Then again, it shouldn’t matter who he gets messages from. _Does Satori still get New Year’s messages from his French ex-boyfriend?_ He pushes the thought away forcefully and takes a deep breath, unwilling to let this moment be tainted by petty jealousy. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes for the disruption. This night is supposed to be about them, whatever that means in the end, and he doesn’t want anyone to interfere with the time they have together, even if it’s just a late-night McDonald’s visit. 

Satori hesitates a moment, then he shrugs. “You’re a popular guy,” he replies with a lopsided smile before shaking his Happy Meal bag, so the little figurine falls out. His eyes widen, and his smile turns into an excited grin as he picks the toy up. 

“Toshiiii, look! It’s the little devil!” he exclaims and waves the small red figurine around. 

Just like that, the strange mood lifts as if nothing happened. Satori places the toy on the table, nibbles on his fries and complains about how he spent so much time in Paris without ever making it to Disneyland – of course, Disneyland Paris is a completely different experience than Disneyland Tokyo. Wakatoshi doubts it but doesn’t interrupt him and Satori moves on to some wild stories about his colleagues at the chocolatery.

It feels a little surreal: sitting here late at night, sharing soggy fries, talking about anything and everything. Wakatoshi looks out the window at the deserted side alley below and lets his thoughts wander. Just two months ago, they couldn’t even talk to each other and now their interactions come so easy. Still, it takes only a small disruption like before to call their newfound balance into question, to remind him of the fragility of their situation. And he can’t stop asking himself: after trying so hard to keep the established distance between them in the beginning, does he really deserve to attain so much in such little time? Yet the truth is, it’s not enough and every second they spend in each other’s presence makes him crave more. 

****

They leave the restaurant shortly after 6 am and make their way over to the public green space across Nishi park. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk and the area is mostly deserted except for an elderly lady walking her dog and a few highly motivated runners. Satori leads the way and they follow a beaten path through the undergrowth to a small clearing overlooking Hirose river to the east. 

No street light reaches the secluded area. The starry night sky has turned lead-gray, enveloping them in that peculiar early morning twilight where it’s even harder to see than when it’s dark. Satori leans against the parapet to watch the slow-flowing river in its canal, and Wakatoshi joins him, standing close enough for their upper arms to touch. 

As he settles down, he notices the quiet around them. The trees and bushes mute the city sounds, so there’s only the low gurgle of the river about twenty feet below, the steady trickle of melting snow and an occasional rustling of birds in soggy, fallen leaves. It smells of damp earth and pine needles. Feeble warmth emanates off Satori, permeating the thick fabrics of their jackets where their arms touch. 

A faint teal gleam has appeared on the horizon and expands over the sky, gradually turning into washed purple and then pink before blending into a soft yellow. Hirose river shimmers like a band of quicksilver below them and a few dispersing cotton candy clouds adorn the sky. Neither of them says anything while a bright orange line forms on the horizon. There is no need for words. They just watch and when Satori shivers slightly, Wakatoshi reaches over and takes his cold fingers into his warm hand. 

It doesn’t take long for the first rays of sun to breach the horizon. Dazzling morning light, fresh and clear and clean, cuts through the illusive atmosphere, dividing night and day, dream and reality. There is no denying that the first sunrise holds a special significance. 

“Have you made your wish?” Satori asks quietly, as if not to disturb the delicate moment. 

“I have,” Wakatoshi answers and meets his gaze, hoping to convey what he wished for without voicing it. Hoping Satori wished for the same. The slender fingers in his grasp twitch nervously, but Satori is smiling softly. 

“You shouldn’t tell, or it might not come true,” he reprimands Wakatoshi in a playful tone, voice a little husky after waiting for the sun to rise in silence. 

“I will do my best to make it come true,” Wakatoshi replies. 

_If you let me._

He doesn’t say it, but the words still hover in the air between them, electrifying, half a promise and half a wish. A ray of morning sun hits Satori’s features, making his eyes glow like embers and Wakatoshi is inevitably pulled closer, as he always is – but this time the feeling is much more specific. His gaze drops to Satori’s lips, glistening wet in the morning sun where he just licked them nervously and the pull grows stronger. Wakatoshi looks back up to meet his eyes, asking, gingerly moving closer. The warm puffs of breath in the diminishing gap between them tingle on his lips. 

“We-… we should- the fortunes,” Satori reminds him suddenly, stumbling over the words before turning his gaze away. Dumbfounded, Wakatoshi watches him withdraw to search his pockets for the strip of paper and the air suddenly feels colder as the moment, just as Satori’s fingers, slips away and vanishes. 

_Why?_ It seemed like the perfect opportunity, the conclusion to what has been building since their car ride and Satori mentioning their first kisses. _I’ll look forward to what you have to offer_ , Satori had said— _offer yourself_ , Oikawa had said—and he just did, yet the distance between them seems to grow with every passing second. The flutter of his heart from moments ago slows to the familiar ache of _I should have known better_.

“Ready? Where’s yours?” Satori asks, undoubtedly just feigning his excited impatience, and Wakatoshi searches his face for an answer to where he went wrong, where he misinterpreted the situation. He notices the way Satori bites on his cheek, the way he always did when he was unsure, the barely perceivable tremble in his slender hands. It seemed like the perfect opportunity, but apparently a few weeks can’t be enough to make up for years of distancing. He expected too much. 

“Here…” he answers, clearing his throat before letting go of Satori’s hand and pulling the omikuji from his inner pocket. Hesitating, Wakatoshi unfolds it slowly and carefully, suddenly weighted down with what it might contain. 

“Ohh, future blessing,” Satori exclaims in a relieved tone, just as Wakatoshi opens his paper to reveal the kanji written in bold strokes: _half blessing_. It sure rings true at the moment. 

****

Satori groggily opens his eyes to the bumping sound of the car driving over rumble strips and the flash of passing street lamps. His focus gradually sharpens to take in the darkness of the river they’re currently crossing and shifts to the sparkling horizon of Tokyo ahead. He rubs his eyes and straightens up in his seat, preparing to be home soon.

“How long was I asleep?” he asks Wakatoshi. He can’t look at Wakatoshi too long before the memory of their moment during the first sunrise sinks in and settles heavy in his chest. Since then, he’s sensed Wakatoshi withdrawing himself little by little.

On that first morning of the year, his heart pounded in his chest as Wakatoshi’s lips drew closer. Suddenly he was terrified of the implications of a kiss. It’s the exact moment he’s been dreading, because he knows there’s no going back after that. And that’s always how it’s been between them. One touch of their lips leads to unyielding passion, whether it shows itself as the tender slide of fingers across the other’s cheek, or a deepening kiss and the press of their bodies.

“About an hour,” Wakatoshi replies without taking his eyes off the road. Satori bites at the inside of his lip. He knows he’s driving and Wakatoshi kind of has to look at the road, but he really needed him to look at him just this once, to give him a sign it’s OK. That it’s OK that he hesitated. Satori turns back to his window and stares at the distant lights of the city skyline before they become obscured by buildings as they make their way further into the city.

 _Remember what you said before? About wanting to be ready? Stop denying yourself the things you obviously want. You’re smarter now, you can handle this. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world. You want to kiss him._ He’s wanted to kiss Wakatoshi, ever since he dreamed about their first.

For the rest of the drive into the city, Satori builds, breaks down, then rebuilds his case for why he should allow himself this kiss. _Because you’re both back home for good, it looks like. Because he obviously wanted it in that moment. And you want it too? Because you’re forgiving yourself and only you know what you want._

“We’ll be arriving soon,” announces Wakatoshi, bending a kink out of his neck. His thick brows dip inward, and Satori has relearned that look by now. _I know, Wakatoshi. You’re just a bit braver than me. And I know you can’t help but be honest; that’s what I love about you._

The car slows to a stop outside of Semi’s apartment complex and Satori’s heart pounds in his chest all over again. He exhales, stretching his arms out in front of him before dropping red fuzz back into the headrest of his seat.

“I’m glad I came along with you. I definitely needed that, and it was good to finally go back home and remember why I came back,” Satori says, nervously fiddling with the drawstring of his hoodie.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I had a pleasant time as well.” Wakatoshi trails off after briefly glancing in Satori’s direction. “I’ll help you with your things-”

“Toshi.”

“Yes?”

Satori pauses and exhales again. _How do I say I’m not leaving this car without kissing you because I let you down yesterday?_

“Satori?”

“I’m not ready to go inside yet. Can we just sit here for a bit? Sorry, I know it’s late,” Satori finally speaks up. He really doesn’t want to leave. He mostly just wants to feel Wakatoshi’s warmth again, and again and again. _I know what I want._

“Alright.”

Satori unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls a leg up underneath him to twist his body toward Wakatoshi. He grabs the large hand resting on the armrest between them and interlocks their fingers. The radiant heat of Wakatoshi’s palm against his is grounding as Satori nuzzles into their interlocked fingers.

“Just a little longer...” he murmurs into their hands, closing his eyes. He hears the click of a seatbelt and sways along with the hand in his as Wakatoshi maneuvers himself closer as well.

“Ok.”

Satori huffs a small laugh before opening his eyes to meet searching hazel. He drops his face onto Wakatoshi’s shoulder as soon as he realizes his cheeks warming. “Why do you have to look at me like that?” he murmurs, words muffled in the thick sweatshirt.

“Like what?” Wakatoshi asks, shifting again under the weight of Satori’s head.

“Like...” Satori raises up to speak more clearly. His heart rattles in his chest at how close Wakatoshi’s face is, again. He swallows as their eyes meet. _Like you’re waiting for me to wipe the sadness away._

Satori closes the gap and presses into the plush mouth in front of him. Wakatoshi’s grip on his hand tightens, and he squeezes back.

“I’m sorry,” Satori whispers into Wakatoshi’s lips, pressing their foreheads together.

“You did nothing wrong,” Wakatoshi reassures, squeezing his hand again then releasing himself. The hand moves to hold Satori’s cheek, thumb stroking across warm pink. He lets himself be pulled back into earnest lips for another kiss, and another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always, kudos or comments are much appreciated! We love to hear your thoughts and reactions! We're both on twitter, come talk to us:
> 
> [@lavendelshampoo](https://twitter.com/lavendelshampoo)  
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> 
> We're pretty sure we're going to combine some of the following chapters so those should be long updates as well, and take us down to 12 chapters total! Please stay tuned!


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